"To live in the woods and the mountains for months on end is to be shown a world and a life we are not given in society, in cities, in towns. It is to be free. This freedom is so beautiful that it is blinding. There are no constraints, no coffee shops, no need for dressing for a job interview, no need to be 'sexy', no bullshit expectations, no status, no hierarchy of beauty or race or class or gender. There is only survival. There is only acceptance."
Philadelphia native and 2014 thru-hiker Kim 'Kimchi' Giannone used film to document her experience on the PCT. The results show a richness of texture and subtlety of color often lost in digital photography. Her images are stunning. After finishing on October 14, Kim reflected on her experience and its transformative power and offered a critique of society's dysfunctional and often superficial relationship with the natural world. She has strong and provocative feelings. Does she overstate the limitations of modern society in the natural world?
We'll be posting more of Kim's writing in the months to come. If you can't wait, visit her writing in the e-mail magazine, Paradigm: http://paradigmmagazine.com/2014/09/19/the-long-walk-pacific-crest-trail-part-iv/
Walking across the Bridge of the Gods was like stepping into another world. People I had been hiking with were beginning to quit the trail as our trail family began to dwindle. Autumn was ever present and the air got cooler and everything became saturated. The days were growing shorter. The realization that I only had just over 550 miles left to walk was sinking in, some days I couldn’t wait for the comfort of the end and some days I was so scared to leave my home in the back country.
Washington was by far the most challenging state to walk through, both mentally and physically. Dense old growth forests, layered neon green tentacles, spines, and morning hair fern blocked out the sky. Mysterious mushrooms lurked everywhere, living a secret slimy existence, being born and dying all about. Cold mountain streams trickled through the overgrowth. Peaty floors in the forest gave way to unforgiving rocky obstacles. Sub alpine forest gave way to 360-degree mountain views – snow capped, rugged, jagged ranges that seemed endless.
The world of Washington was the reward and punishment for continuing to hike the Pacific Crest Trail. It’s beauty was unmatched, and the variety of landscape, flora and fauna, incomparable to anywhere else. The further north we walked, the colder it became, the wetter the days and nights, the bigger the mountains, the larger the scale of everything. I could feel myself unraveling, like a massive ball of soaked and frayed yarn. I wanted to quit almost every day for the first 100 miles in Washington. I was climbing switchbacks endlessly, climbing to the top of nothing, no views for a long time, just the dense forest to keep me in my thoughts, replaying anything negative I was holding onto inside. Some days, if I was able to slow down and pay attention in those secrets worlds, I would lose time in a sense, live out my fantasies within my day dreams.
There seemed to be no in-between because Washington, like my brain, is bi-polar. I found myself very exhausted there, and I would hallucinate often, at first being scared by what I was imagining, then in a strange way, almost comforted. I lost touch with reality many times hiking the trail in Washington. The end was near and I knew I had little time left to fully access and re-wire the parts of my brain and heart I knew needed some repair and some change. I fully let myself open up out there and became overwhelmed with everything that nature was not only offering but shoving into my shell. It felt like too much so often, and again, I cried.
Overwhelmed by the beauty I was lucky enough to exist in everyday, I wept for my weakness, my lack of patience for the rain, which made me cold and stiff and angry. More days than not, I was cleansed by my surroundings, and although I was very verbal in my frustrations I was grateful for every lesson. Washington stripped me naked, took away my physical being, and gave me the opportunity to go as far into myself as possible, to shed the unnecessary and to take advantage of my environment.
To hike the Pacific Crest Trail is to be out in the back country. It can really shake your beliefs, your ideas of the world, of society, of your reality. It can put you down to zero and lift you to infinity. It can open your heart so much that you feel as if you will explode. Most of us who have thru hiked have said, “I can’t talk about it to those people (those who haven’t thru hiked), They wouldn’t understand.” This is almost true, to explain the exposure and the change is difficult. To live in the woods and the mountains for months on end is to be shown a world and a life we are not given in society, in cities, in towns. It is to be free. This freedom is so beautiful it is blinding. There are no constraints, no coffee shops, no need for dressing for a job interview, no need to be “sexy”, no bullshit expectations, no status, no hierarchy of beauty or race or class or gender. There is only survival. There is only acceptance. There is only the meeting of a challenge, whether it be weather, or an unforgiving landscape, or your own mental bullies and demons going to work. Out there you are given the chance to see what real life we were intended for.
Some days the realization of what we have lost to gain “civilization” is so hard to bear. The sadness in knowing that so many people I love and have been inspired by will never bear witness to this experience in person is soul crushing. We have removed ourselves from nature, and in turn, our intimacy with nature is not natural. On the trail we (thru hikers) came across day hikers, or as we fondly call them “day walkers”. The divide in who we are is so drastic. The day walkers carry over-packed bags, they smell so strongly of soaps, detergents and perfumes and colognes, they are overdressed and over-outfitted, they talk loudly, they simply look out of place and slightly uncomfortable. They view us (unnecessarily) as heroes and say things like, “I wish I had the time and freedom to do what you are doing.” I apologize for the generalization, but that it what it is…a generalization. My point is that the obvious removal from nature and the lack of time spent within it’s realm is ever present.
You begin a thru hike with an ungodly heavy bag, full of objects you swear you need for comfort, for existence, for survival. Slowly, as you stay out longer and longer you realize that these objects are exactly that, objects. You become accustomed to just being. Most of us lose the hygiene routine. I personally forgot to brush my teeth most days. My hair was a happy mess upon my filthy head. My armpits, legs and nether region were overgrown and I hardly noticed. I wore the same clothes every day. I allowed myself multiple pairs of socks and underwear in Washington, but only because it rained so much and I was beginning to get trench foot and I had a lovely yeast infection for a week and a half. Days became lost, time was unnecessary. The date (ha!) none of us knew the date. The neurotic way of city/social life sheds away. The bare necessity of survival overcomes all. Some of us create our own little family there, and some of us take comfort in the solace of our world around us in the trees.
In “real” life we do not function in this way. When I come off of the trail to go into town, to resupply, to eat, drink and do whatever it is that always makes me want to get back out there, I am viewed more oft than not as a homeless vagabond. When we have the chance to explain ourselves, people either celebrate us or question our sanity. We are either rejected or viewed as heroes. And again, the old “Well, I wish I had time, I wish I had the freedom, I wish I had the lack of responsibility blah blah blah,” comes about. Me too … I wish we all realized how unnecessary our material lives are. I wish we all could embrace the natural freedom of walking through unpolluted, undeveloped, pure ecosystems. I wish to God we could all be free of shitty cologne, makeup, dumb clothes with someone’s name stitched on them by some poor ass kid in in a third world country. I wish people could walk 100 miles of pristine countryside instead of driving their gas guzzling, oil dependent piece of shit vehicles that continually destroy the earth. I wish folks would be preoccupied with noticing the weather patterns to figure out shelter instead of checking their iPhones. I wish people could listen to the beguiling of elk echoing throughout the mountain valley at night instead of some shitty single that glorifies YOLO. I wish we could meet each other in the middle, and realize how unnecessary all of our hard work building a life on debt, insincerity and the drive to “get ahead” has become.
This is such a harsh judgement and statement, but being in nature for five months will rattle your beliefs. It might make you have a hard time returning to “civilization” and being a part of “life”. We are taught that nature is wild, that it is dangerous, that it is unpredictable. We are not taught to properly experience it. We are scared. And this to me is the biggest shame, because in our fear mongering we never learn to respect it properly, we only know how to continue our habits of using it. Our relationship becomes blurred and we must control it. Please my friends, visit a national park to watch “normal folks” interacting with nature. Watch them shoving terrible over priced food into their mouths, watch them interact with wild life. Their ignorance of their surroundings ever abundant while they loudly exist, talking over each other, complaining about inconveniences. Watch them line their unnecessary vehicles along paved roads that shouldn’t be there in the first place just to gawk at animals and to complain about being “held up”.
To me, it seems that most people “visiting” nature don’t even enjoy it. They’d rather be at home watching television. They’d rather be shopping, or talking on their phones. In nature, there is no phone service, no Internet, nowhere to pick up whatever unnecessary thing you desire. The thought of coming back to all of this mayhem was wearing me down. And yet I often longed for comfort, for a day when I did not have to climb over 5000 ft. I became ever aware of the human condition, of our flawed egocentric way of being. I tried each day to simplify my thoughts and over time I could spend more time mentally free, just existing on the trail, on my path and finding the gratitude in the language of the wilderness.
The more time I spent out, the less I looked forward to time back in “real life”. The solitude of the trail and the simplicity of only having to walk, eat, go to the bathroom, drink water and put up shelter was making more and more sense. The pain and agony of physical endurance was replaced with peace and acceptance. The more I let go, the more I became aware, and the more I could love those I was hiking with. I began to miss my friends and family, wishing I could express my deepest love, respect and gratitude for all of the time I had spent with them. Most days I could only focus on love. The days the darkness dwelled, I realized that anything I disliked or hated was born from a place of self-disdain, insecurity, and the wrath of self-hatred that digs a deep and diseased tunnel into my psyche. The trail naturally healed that multiple times and as I physically drained myself, the sadness, despair and ego would shrink smaller and smaller as the gratitude would swell.
Washington’s views and landscapes were not demanding per se. They seemed to have a take it or leave it attitude. Nature was sculpted, designed, and determined so long ago, yet the autumnal tide was changing the plant life, the fall weather brought about an ever-changing electric green wetness that inspired the explosion of alien fungi throughout. Blueberry shrubs burst into bright red and orange flame all about the mountain side. They flanked a burning ring of the most succulent and fat berries to be picked all along the way. Glacial mountains wore their beautiful wardrobe of ice and snow. Every peak felt important and intimate. Every alpine meadow was alive and bursting at the seams with quiet and carved out beauty. High elevation lakes glittered and glimmered, reflecting the onslaught of the season. The smell of pine was ever present, and the ground was soft in so many lower places with sweet decaying trees, leaves, pine needles and plant life. There was an abundance of treasure troves around every bend deep into the forest. Dense fog would roll in, making the entire morning feel like an illusion. Muted trees and logs and leaves danced quietly about on the floor while mountains rose up, ghostly and sweetly upon the horizon as we climbed.
Washington was very dreamlike and nightmarish at times. The rain would begin and not stop. We would become drenched, cold, and tired, our clothes and gear bearing the burden of twice their weight soaked. I would stay wet all day, and set up a tent in the rain, try to keep my sleeping bag dry and keep one set of clothes for bed dry. The rain would keep a strong rhythm banging away throughout the night. I began to loathe this sound, the pitter patter of pouring. I tried so very hard to find peace with the rain, with the beauty that it helped to maintain in Washington, I reminded myself that the plethora of mushrooms wouldn’t exist without it, that the greenery would not be so possible, that the enriched decomposing beauty of the forest would not be as abundant. But that cold, wet, constant rain was defeating. I hated it. I protested it and I feared it. In retrospect, it is very easy to find the romantic aspect of the rainy treks, but in reality it was almost a deal breaker. Now, I know how to acclimate to it. On the Pacific Crest Trail I was blessed with the severe heat of the desert, the giddy drunkenness of high altitude, the canopy of despair in Oregon, the driving and determined rain of Washington and lastly, the onslaught of winter in the far north, close to Canada.
We walked and walked and as we got to Rainy Pass, just about 70 miles from the finish, the first snow came. We climbed higher and higher and the snow became dense, flakes the size of quarters, fluffy and delicate. The trail became a white path that crunched under my feet. My cheeks were red and my breath was a cloud in front of me. It was glorious to be up so high in the snow. I felt as small as I ever have up there as we hit the pass and climbed up and over. In the distance past the storm clouds, the sun was trying as hard as it possibly could to break through in waves. The distant mountain tops were swimming in an unsteady ocean of golden sunlight and dark cotton clouds. We traversed happily across sawtooth ridges, the snow painting everything around, the cold forcing me to feel awake and alive. We all knew in our hearts that we had to get to Canada, and that our time was running out. As we would get closer the weather would alternate and get very cold at times. The cold was somehow very reassuring and pleasurable to me. It made me never want to leave the back country, it made time stop. It made me feel as if what I was doing was more epic than perhaps it actually was.
We climbed up past Hart’s Pass as the end of the day was approaching. Wind brought us a nice little snowstorm in the sunset. We were traversing the entire rest of our 5.6 miles for the day to our campsite. I didn’t want that time to end. We were so close to Canada. The mountains were flanking us on all sides. The long scar of the trail was leading us, the horizon was a confused meeting of weather. Everything was massive and endless. The snow came down sideways, flakes collecting in my eyelashes. The yellow of the mountain grass was becoming gently blanketed. It was the first day of hunting season and I could see campfires in the woods. Everything was quiet and the trail, all of it, played out in my mind. I felt so changed and so grateful and so sad that it would be ending in a few days.
I woke up the next morning to a very brisk and blustery wintery day, climbed a few passes into rain, descended into the sun, climbed more into an Indian summer late lunch, made my last massive ascent into an autumn sunset and descended into a rain soaked cold evening, where the rain didn’t stop until after dawn. Washington gave us everything and always left us guessing. When the rain would stop for a few days we felt so grateful. To be compromised so much allows a higher sense of gratitude when all is well. It allowed us to appreciate the greater beauty in each gift we received out there in the back country.
It’s so hard to really write about or summarize or wrap up my experience of walking from Mexico to Canada on the Pacific Crest Trail. I sincerely think it will be an experience that forever humbles me. The memories will mutate, my days and nights stretching into thoughts and dreams that bend my reality and shape my future. When I made the final steps into Canada I found myself walking so much slower, trying to stop the natural progression of the end. It was so anticlimactic. I kept thinking I would take a zero, and do another 20 the following day to begin another section. I fought the reality that I would be done. I fought the notion that I would go back to “reality”. I was looking forward to that comfort, to knowing I would be stopping, but really, inside I knew that any pain, physical or otherwise would always be worth existing out there – in the trees, in the mountains and meadows, in the grass and rock and sand. I knew my tent was better than any home, my shitty, slimy, sweaty, farm-smelling sleeping bag better than any bed. I knew a hot shower was a temporary relief, a hot meal a temporary delight. In my heart, I knew I would have a hard time adjusting to society.
I realized again that perhaps in the “real world” our problem is that temporary feeling of comfort that we so long to make permanent. We gorge ourselves on temporary fixes to long-term problems. With each step closer to civilization I could feel the dread building. I would have to get clean. I would have to make unnecessary small-talk. I would have to worry about money. I would have to shave my body and brush my teeth. I’d have to go to a bathroom to relieve myself. No more fresh mountain water. No more peace and quiet. No more sleeping outside. I felt like an animal about to be caged. I felt so scared and so grateful to have been able to walk for as long as I did. I looked back at the trail, knowing my time was up and preparing for the next great adventure. The realization that my time out here in the real world could be temporary gave me comfort, and having the knowledge that my experience out there on the trail is a permanent part of my life is something that will drive me to keep going, to keep learning. To hopefully be a better ambassador for nature. To perhaps help in building the bridges between folks in the real world to the endless gift that is the outdoors. I will carry every step with me, everyone I met has become a part of my fabric. The Pacific Crest Trail is a beast that perhaps has begun to carve a new trail in the landscape of my life. It taught me that no matter what, I have to keep walking.
