#pct2016

[crowcialist]

Lots of people have been taking my little PCT book on their own wilderness adventures, and that makes my heart so full.

You can get it here (or at your favorite independent bookstore’s website)!

[imonahike]

Agua Dulce to Casa de Luna

17 May 2016 mile: 462.29

We all slept in, took our time. Decided to wait until the afternoon to hike out. I remember eating the remainder of my toaster strudels and England’s rotisserie chicken. Taking a last nap in the trailer, listen to someone interview Donna Saufley about the trail and the situations that had risen out of running Hiker Heaven. About how important Hiker Heaven actually is to Agua Dulce, providing a place for hikers to resupply that doesn’t so heavily tax the small town. The differences they’d made in the lives of hikers, all the people she’d met. Then I fell asleep on the couch, the sounds of someone quietly playing the guitar and a small dog curled up next to me.

When I woke up, we were really leaving. I stayed as long as England, Butters, and Osprey would permit and took advantage of the wonderful place called Hiker Heaven. I thanked Country Gold and wished him luck, he’s hiking in 2017. Took my picture with the Saufleys. Donna informed me that we would likely meet again and in turn wished me luck on the rest of our journey. 

After we loaded our gear into the van, we were off to the trailhead. It was an extremely short drive. We left relatively late, deciding only to hike four or five miles and then camp. Donna had told us of a most wonderful spot and I was excited to camp there. Not half a mile into the trail we ran into a couple of friends. We stopped and talked for probably too long, none of us really wanted to get moving. It was hard leaving Hiker Heaven.

Eventually Butters and Osprey picked up the pace and it was just England and me. My calves were burning again, that damn lactic acid was the worst. It didn’t take too long before the burn subsided and we actually had a fine time chatting. Another hour in and it started to get dark, we put on our headlamps. We should be really close to the campsite. We found it! Following a steep trail down we came out to a nice view over the valley. Except Osprey and Butters had totally flown by it. Frustrated, we hiked back up the trail and followed along. After another mile and a half we found them, they’d set up camp on top of a ridge. Thankfully the wind wasn’t strong, and we were that much closer to Casa de Luna, the next stop on our list. 

I set up my tent and thought about what tomorrow would hold. The hike itself should’ve be too terrible, only 17 miles left to Casa de Luna, another safe haven for PCT thru hikers. The desert was beautiful. We talked in our tents and ate our food. Debated about how long we would stay with the Andersons. We’d spent two days at Hiker Heaven, we should probably be moving on.

18 May 2017 mile: 478.23

Woke up when it was still dark out. I was running pretty low on water, so decided to wait to eat until the water source. Packed up and hiked out before everyone else. There was dew on the desert grass. I really enjoyed this short walk to water. The trail was quiet and I ran through some spider webs across the trail, reminded me a bit of the AT, and it was very low grade downhill. All of this was lovely. I ate my breakfast and was joined by another hiker who I can only remember as “Sexy Santa”, although I know that’s not his true trail name. We chatted about nothing in particular while he filtered his water. After a bit he hiked out and Butters appeared. I filtered water for the day and we were off, fifteen miles to Casa de Luna! Really that wasn’t very far, but it decided to be legitimately hot that day.

Among the things I learned in the desert is that I don’t do well in the heat. It just zaps the life out of me. I don’t know if it’s because I’m an above average sweater and I don’t get enough electrolytes, or what. This was very hard for me. I got very frustrated on this day. I blamed my suffering on the time I took off. Mostly I blamed it on myself. I spent the day in internal argument over whether or not I had any business on the PCT. I finally caught up with the others and they had been waiting for a while. We found a place to take a siesta, but it wasn’t as long as I would have liked. Hiked on in the afternoon.

Thankfully Butters was also suffering. That or he waited for me. I was getting nowhere until the heat of the day finally subsided. When it finally did subside, I led this time, pacing Butters and I into Casa de Luna. I could suddenly do the uphill. Probably nothing terribly fast, but it was nice to feel like a decent hiker again. Got to the top of the climb could see down to the road. “Casa de Luna is down there!” Butters quickly passed me. His knees could handle the downhill better than mine could. Arrived at the bottom, it was close to 7pm. We had hoped to get here much sooner. Osprey and England had already hitched to Casa de Luna. 

Halfmile said there was a water source at the fire station about 2/10 of a mile away, so we walked down there while attempting to hitch. No one was pulling over for us. Butters went to get water, he’d been out for the past couple of miles. I was definitely in an unfortunate mood. Today had been hard, I was dehydrated and exhausted, and I had been so SLOW. But here I was, at my intended destination. I was trying to get my head on straight in the fire station parking lot when a van pulled up. The window rolled down and the woman driving asked, “You hiker trash looking for Casa de Luna?” Why yes! We were! It was Terrie Anderson herself! She piled us into her van and asked if we knew of any hikers close behind. We said we didn’t think so, and so she drove us off to her humble abode. 

When we arrived, most of the hikers had already finished the famous taco salads. This is one of the things Casa de Luna is most known for. A huge vat of nacho cheese, endless salsa and chips, lettuce, refried beans, all of the glorious toppings. We had to wash up first. Then I was being forced into a Hawaiian shirt, the mandatory attire at Casa de Luna. Barbie was showing me where to set up my tent in the Manzanita forest. I did so, though the soil was loose and my pitch was pretty terrible. I changed out of my hiking clothes, donned the Hawaiian shirt, and headed back to the front of the house. Where they’d already put all of the food away. 

I tried to be rational about it and other hikers offered me some of their food. Instead my brain was so devastated I didn’t want to eat anything. I had been looking forward to food that wasn’t in my food bag, in particular this famous taco salad. I knew I was being ridiculous, but my tired and dehydrated brain just couldn’t handle it. Through my pouting, I took a spot on a couch and let the hiker talk lull me into a state of comfort. I found myself chatting with Van Go, huddled under a tarp turned blanket. The conversation was probably what I needed in life, eventually turning intellectual and made everything on the trail balanced again.

Eventually I crawled into my tent and forced down a Luna bar. It was disgusting. I slept. 

19 May 2017 mile 478.23

I woke up the next day earlier than the rest of the crowd. I had this nasty habit of not being able to sleep in. Regardless of how early/late I went to sleep, I would wake up before the sun came up. On this day, I was STARVED. I wandered up to the front of the house to acquire some water and sit on the couch. Everyone was still sleeping, it was quiet. After a bit Terrie came out of the house, “There’s pancakes inside.” She informed me. Oh goodness. Pancakes... PANCAKES. YES PLEASE. I ate them ravenously and I think I cried. The trail makes me feel a lot of feelings and I can’t always keep them in.

Other hiker trash began to wake up. I knew a lot of these wonderful people. Feldspar, Butterscotch, Barbie, Van Go, Corkscrew, England, Osprey, Butters, Wildcard, Sublime, and the list goes on and on and on. All these faces I hadn’t known several weeks ago and yet here we all were, together in this strange Oasis. I loved it. 

I spent the rest of the day socializing and eating. I made several runs to the local convenience store, acquiring coke and chocolate milk and three lunchables and cheese sticks and ice cream and candy and probably more things than I needed. I had a half gallon of chocolate milk and I wound up sharing a bit of it, there was no fridge to keep it from turning sour. I painted the words “Odi et Amo” onto a rock, which about sums up how I feel about the trail. We played the YMCA song off my phone and did the dance for Terrie Anderson, who laughed at us and then gave us our PCT Class of 2017 bandanas. Some things you just have to work for. I wrote my name on the 2017 tarp that hung from the Anderson’s house. Had my picture taken with a bunch of other hiker trash, proving that I had indeed been at Casa de Luna. That night I finally acquired my taco salad. The picture probably looks disgusting, but it was absolutely everything I wanted to be. I will dream about that salad forever.

I should end this account here, but a change happened for me that night.

At some point someone mentioned that it was supposed to rain that evening. It was with this knowledge that I coerced England, Osprey, and Butters to stay another night. They all wanted to leave, but I wanted to stay for the full Casa de Luna experience. In all my research of the PCT it was these two trail angels in the desert that I knew I wanted to spend the full amount of time with. I think I was also very depleted. To add to all of that, I had been feeling like I was being held back from hiking my own hike. Maybe this was all unreasonable, I wasn’t sure. 

Regardless of any of those feelings, I was getting along with another crew of hikers. Barbie/Corkscrew/Pogue/Robin/VanGo had all been hiking together, leapfrogging each other, temporarily calling themselves the Rat Pack. They were really awesome dudes. And different from what I’d been experiencing, they would hike their own hike during the day, camp together at night, or maybe not, and then probably meet up in the next town. More of a hike your own hike, but with a group. This all sounded spectacular to me, because I actually hate hiking with people during the day. Not all of the time, but about 60% of my time on trail I’m miserable, and I don’t really like to be around people in that state... I had told Osprey/Butters/England I would hike out with them at the crack of dawn, but the more I thought about it the more I wanted to sleep in. Barbie and Van Go suggested I hike out with them later in the morning, I could catch up with my group in Tehachapi. I was 100% down with that. By the time I decided to temporarily join the rat pack, Osprey and Butters were already asleep for the night. I told England about it, saying I would catch up with them in Tehachapi. He was... rather unhappy with me. Very cross. I probably could have handled that entire situation better. I don’t know if I made the right decision or not, but when I woke up the next morning, Osprey, Butters, and England had hiked out without me. 

[bearclawhikes]

I look back at some of my shots of the Sierras and doubt if they’re even real. These mountains feel as though they belong in a fantasy novel instead of on this earth

[wanderlust-2016-blog]

Constant changing landscapes even in the desert. For at least a day the trail led us through rolling grassy hills. Temperature is rising quickly now after the sun comes up and hiking in the afternoon is already getting hard. Bloody boogers and nosebleed...Like the early days on the#pct2016. #AZT #arizonatrail #deserthike #thruhike #mexicotoutah #backpacking #grassy #heatwave

[crowcialist]

PCT Day 145: Walking Home

This is my last night on trail. This is my last night on trail. This is my last night on trail. At last, and too soon. 

The single thought that tomorrow will bring me to Canada and the end of my journey got me through some tough hiking today. I was cold, tired, weary--the miles rolled by so slowly, and so many of them were uphill. 

It began to rain, because why would the weather bother changing now? I was now wet on top of those other adjectives, and my hand was still giving me trouble. Not my favorite morning on trail so far, but like all mornings it passed by eventually. (Among the things slowing me down: trying to filter water from a thin barely-there trickle of stream that took 10 minutes of off-trail tramping to find. Water, water, everywhere, etc.)

When I got to Hart's Pass, I encountered what will almost certainly be my final trail magic. A man named Walking Home was set up there with fruit, jam, soda, and (as I walked up) hot buttered rum. I killed an hour there talking to him, along with Salty (the only other Syracusan I've met on trail) and Dairy Queen, who I met all those miles ago back at the trail magic cabin in southern Oregon. Walking Home made coffee for us after the hot buttered rums, and for those few minutes I got a glimpse of what wonders my life will hold when I return to Seattle. 

My brain yo-yoing from the alcohol and caffeine, I set out again, the sun finally beginning to make an effort against the gray, almost solid-looking layer of fog hanging over everything. To the west I could see blue peaks disappearing into the mass of cloud; the lighting this produced on the yellow brush surrounding the ridge trail was strange and beautiful. 

Still, I was just so tired. My thinking was that it was worth doing one last really hard day in order to make tomorrow easier, so I kept pushing, one heavy step after another. Around 6 pm I finally made it to camp at a spring. Eventually, I always get there--it's pretty amazing and ridiculous that I still stress about that this close to end of the journey. You'd think I'd've figured it out by now. 

Across the way from me were three Canadians, down from Vancouver to camp here for a few days. They'd come to this place last year around this time and had seen such beauty that they decided to come back. Too bad, really--around here you can't see much of anything thanks to the aforementioned fog. They didn't seem too disappointed, though. They invited me to come join them by their fire, and we talked hiking and life and politics as we all ate. The three--John, Norman, and Margaret--were all so welcoming and kind. This made it even easier to answer, when they asked what the best part of the experience had been, to say "people" without hesitation. 

Eventually I retreated back to my tent, and made hot chocolate with whiskey, courtesy of my old hiking buddy SoHard, who did a rebellious thing and mailed me booze to Stehekin. Delicious. This is my last night on trail. I hardly believe it.

[crowcialist]

PCT Day 146: The End of the Road

It's all over.

I hiked 15 miles to the Canadian border. 8 more into Manning Park. And with that I don't have to--nor do I get to--walk any more of this trail. 

Moments like this are supposed to be grand and writing about them is supposed to be both specific and universal, but I don’t have the energy to do that just yet. I am so, so damn tired. 

I met four other hikers at the border: Sue and Ruben, a South Korean couple; and Starfish and Juben (yes), friends who met along the way. Earlier in the day I met two guys in their 50s, Bender and Red Baron, who were about to finish hiking all of Washington on the PCT; they would later buy me a few beers in the lodge at Manning Park. 

I was something like terrified when I got to the park. I didn’t quite know how anything worked, how much anything cost...I was so overwhelmed. It felt like there should’ve been a welcoming committee there to walk me through everything, but no such like. Just a dozen or so other hikers in their own subdued celebrations, looking as filthy and tired as I felt. 

It’s over. Tomorrow I go home. And then, I think, I’m going to sleep for the next 15 years or so. 

Some pictures from my final day:

(Yes, those are the clouds, hanging in a perfectly straight ceiling.)

(The pen at the the terminus logbook sucked. Quote is from Primo Levi’s “Bear Meat.”)

[bearclawhikes]

"Books you don't need, in a place you can't find" Found near PCT mile 145, in the middle of nowhere, a free library. For the rest of the desert section I read a copy of Dune taken from this box. An appropriate selection, but sometimes between water sources I found myself wishing for a stillsuit. #pacificcresttrail #pct2016 #dune #backpacking #reading #library (at Anza Desert)

[crowcialist]

PCT Day 130: The Goat Rocks

I am paying attention this morning. I am entering the Goat Rocks, which I have been told over and over again is one of the most staggeringly beautiful sections of trail, so I am paying attention. But before I even get to the rocks, before I leave the heavy forest in which I camped, I am rewarded. My footfalls rouse the attentions of four elk--a pair each of bulls and cows--and they crash away through the underbrush, flattening saplings with their bulk. 

I wonder if hunters find it difficult to cut elk sign. 

Annie Dillard once wrote that “beauty and grace are performed whether or not we will sense them. The least we can do is try to be there.” I feel very much the same this morning. For a fleeting second, I got to bear witness to something much older, simpler, and more majestic than myself. That it happened too quickly to catch with my camera is part of what made it so lovely.

Heart steadily filling, I hike on. Every spider in the Gifford-Pinchot National Forest seems to have woven its web at face height--this is my lot as an early riser. To break the spiderwebs for every hiker who follows me down this trail. 

My right heel is complaining. It's going to be one of those days, I guess. But one of the crazy things about being out here is how certain views, certain features of landscape, can make everything feel so perfect as to whitewash pain and hunger and exhaustion. To wit: I come around a bend and meet two hikers, a couple at retirement age, heading south. 

"You must be a thru-hiker." 

"What gave me away?" 

He smiles at that. He is probably too kind to say, "the smell," or "the salt caked all over your shirt." 

"If you're a thru-hiker, then you're just the man I was looking for." By way of explanation, he drops his pack and rummages around in it, pulling forth a small apple. "Does this interest you?" 

Does it ever. Fresh fruit, heavy and spoil-prone as it is, is a luxury that most hikers by necessity avoid altogether. (Berries being the exception, as they don't have to be packed--they just appear.) I wish them well and hike on. Soon after I meet another southbound weekend hiker, of similar age, who stares in disbelief when I tell him I plan to go 28 miles total today, all the way through the Goat Rocks in one go. We chat for a few minutes before we part, and after a few steps up trail he turns back to me. 

"Hey," he says, with a pointed look at my headphones. "Don't forget to look up once in a while." 

I do some mental math and figure that he's too old to be Ferris Bueller, but I take the advice to heart. I wend my way up Cispus Pass, a saddle that crosses into Yakama reservation territory. Mount Adams looks stunning behind me, and again I am struck with that reference point phenomenon--I cannot believe I was on the other side of that mountain yesterday. For hours I can see Adams looming behind me, black and white and stern, austere and beautiful. It makes a lovely contrast with the red soil, the greenery, the rainbow of wildflowers that stretch out before me. 

I walk the rim of the Cispus Basin and take a break at a waterfall rushing down next to the trail. There's a sapphire pool at its bottom and a tiny rainbow stretched across it. A fine mist sprays me as I sit, and I cannot think of a better way to beat the heat of a cloudless late summer day. 

A few minutes after leaving my snack spot I crest the lip of the basin and see Mount Rainier in all its glory. By this time I have decided that Rainier is my favorite mountain on earth--my mountain, I find myself thinking of it--and the view is intoxicating. I am so small. I can do so much. 

There’s a sketchy, icy patch overlaying the trail, and so I take the alternate that so many have recommended: a path up and over Old Snowy Mountain and down the Knife’s Edge. The name, I am told, will make sense in time.

Sure enough: from the top of Old Snowy the trail narrows into an impossibly small pathway littered with slabs of slate that sound like breaking glass, like I’m breaking the bones of the earth. It makes the going precarious. But it never feels particularly dangerous; on the contrary, it’s the perfect combination of beautiful and challenging. My heart is racing with the joy of it all. 

The narrow trail cascades downhill and it feels like I’m walking on the spine of a dragon. Up and down and up and down sharp humps of rock on a pathway with no flat ground on either side. There’s nowhere to stop for lunch, but I am strangely unbothered. I’m having too much fun. There is so much to see and the sun is high. At the top of a particularly steep crest I run into my old friend Christopher, the hiker who refused every attempt to give him a trail name. I haven’t seen him in a few hundred miles; our first bonding experience came all the way back before Acton (mile 444), where we shared a meal in the overhang of a park bathroom during a freezing cold rainstorm. 

Here, there’s no rain to share, but there’s plenty of wind. So, so much wind. There is nothing else. It rips our conversation to shreds and so all either of us can do is laugh, because that’s easy enough to understand, and really, isn’t this the most ridiculous thing we’re doing?

Finally, mercifully, we make it down off the Knife’s Edge and into a small copse of trees where we collapse gratefully and lay out some lunch. It’s as good a windbreak as we’ve seen all day, and we pass an hour eating tortillas and summer sausage and cheese. 

Our final push for the day is 7.5 miles to Hidden Spring; true to form, it’s incredibly difficult to find. I’ve been out of water for more than an hour by the time I find it, so I’m all the more grateful for the freezing cold burbling of the spring, which rests just below a horse camp. 

This is one of the best days I’ve had on trail. This is one of the best days I’ve had, period. I am happily exhausted. I am paying attention.