Day 8: Solitary

Mile 2,533 to mile 2,509

Miles: 24

The section of the trail that I hiked today had the most elevation change of any day-long section on the PCT. I climbed 8,629 ft, and descended 8,159 ft.

It's hard for me to wrap my head around those numbers without more info, so here are some details:

12 straight hours of hiking

5+ miles of bush-whacking through head-high underbrush that had overgrown the trail (including many spiny plants)

30+ downed trees climbed over or crawled under

15 creeks crossed

Half a mile of snow fields crossed

6 other people encountered

30 total minutes of conversation, the rest was solitude

To sum it up, today was brutal. Not only is there lingering snow on the trail, but much of it has not been maintained yet this season. Downed trees over the trail are commonplace. The thick, spiny underbrush has overgrown many parts. Speaking with a ranger two days ago, he said that much of this year's trail maintenance will take place in the next month, to prepare for the surge of northbound hikers who will hit the state in September.

I was able to power through the challenges today, and to keep hiking with energy, but my heart wasn't in it. In order to push through days like today and to last an entire thru-hike, a hiker has to either enjoy the challenges, or be entirely unfazed by them. Today, I wasn't that hiker. I was irritated that the trail climbed and descended ridge after ridge. I wished that the trail was maintained, even more so each of the six times that I fell during the heavy underbrush sections due to a concealed rock or hole in the trail. I wanted some company.

I don't feel sorry for myself. Every part of this trip is my own doing and it's an adventure that I'm perfectly capable of handling. At the same time, I didn't enjoy today. I dreamed about thru-hiking for a long, long time, but this is not what I envisioned. I hoped for more companionship. I hoped for less pain. I hoped for a hike that showcased the Pacific Northwest. Well, in terms of that last hope, I got what I wished for.

I limped the last three miles into camp. My knees are the size of oranges. Using my hiking poles as crutches, I vaulted my way down the trail, trying to give my knees and Achilles' tendons a break. I aimed for a large campsite near a good water source, primarily in the hopes that I'd find some of my hiker brethren there.

The campsite was empty. I expended every last ounce of energy I had to get here, so I'm camping alone tonight for the first time. I hung my food a ways away from camp. I still plan on wearing earplugs.

This is tough going. It's especially tough when you're alone for the experience.

To end on a less negative note, here are some pics from that day. 

Here's a super chill marmot sunbathing right next to the trail:

Glacier Peak's snowy expanse:

Cascades rule everything around me:

The trail ahead:

Bridge might be broken, but I still crossed it:

Tonight's huge dinner spread that included a package of ramen, a tuna packet (spicy Thai, how fancy), a tomato tortilla, cheese, and a snickers bar:

Day 7: The Lowest Low & The Recovery

Mile 2,555 to mile 2,533

Miles: 22

I woke up at 5:30AM to most of my fellow campers already in the final stages of readying their packs. Our current section is supposed to be the most difficult on the PCT, and everyone is taking it seriously.

I hadn't slept especially well in my cowboy camping site, and was ready for an entire additional night of sleep. I groggily packed my things, drank a vanilla instant breakfast out of my beef ramen-flavored food container, and charged my devices, all the while pacing to deter the bugs.

RANT ALERT: I'm frowning because these signs are on the south side of this tree, designed for northbound hikers and invisible to southbound hikers who don't turn around to look at the the opposite side of every friggin tree. I did not see these signs and took a .6 mile-long wrong turn.

I hit the trail at 6:15 AM and the trail hit back. The air was cold and the underbrush dewy. I was hiking directly up a ridge with no warm up. I had to go to the bathroom but had a drop off on one side and a cliff on the other. Most of all, I was sapped of energy. After my 15 mile afternoon push of the day before, I had only eaten ramen and some cheese for dinner. Amounting to maybe 600 calories, I had nothing in the tank.

Every issue on the trail has a physical component, and a morale component. In this case, physically, I was stopping every hundred feet or so to give my legs a chance to recover. In terms of morale, I hated the trail. I hated that I was alone. I hated that even my shorts were starting to leave friction marks on my body. I hated that my only reward for completing today would be an even more difficult day tomorrow. I hated that I hated this experience that has been a dream for so long.

For the first time, I thought seriously about leaving the trail. I kept wrestling the idea out of my mind, telling myself that this was just a hard moment, but every time my legs would give out, I'd find myself analyzing my quitting options. The quitting analysis looked something like this:

How many miles would it take to hike back out of this section? Do I have enough food?

Answer: 20, yes

What are some good reasons for leaving the trail?

Answer: injury, danger, dislike of the experience, but really none feel like good reasons.

What would my quitting journal post look like?

Answer: I could title it something serious and introspective: "Why I'm Ok with Leaving the PCT" (use "leaving" instead of "quitting" to soften the blow). I could use humor: "F*** This". I could externalize the issues: "Thru-Hiking Ain't Hiking."

I so publicly announced my intentions to spend several months on the trail, what would my friends and family think?

Answer: It probably wouldn't change much at all. I wouldn't get any "congrats on finishing" pats on the back, but they would either understand or not care. 

After a few hours of this morale-spiral, I ate as many snacks of jerky/granola bars/protein bars as I could choke down, drank some water, told myself it was OK to rest a bit, and pulled out my MP3 player.

Emily had, as my birthday present and thru-hike sendoff, given me the most incredibly thoughtful gift. I was blown away when she presented it to me. As many of you know, it's a folder full of recordings from all of my friends, classmates, and family. All of the people who are so important in my life recorded anything from a 10-second good luck message, to a 14-minute narration of what's happening in a TV show, to a 8-minute essays that culminated in a rap.

Standing in the middle of a switchback, my feet throbbing and my knees aching, I navigated to the message folder on my MP3 player and hit play on a message from Em.

The tears hit immediately. The exertion of this trip has brought my emotions to the surface many times in the past week, but here was the full deluge. As had been my response to all issues on the trail, I automatically started hiking forward. I stumbled up the rocky switchback, bawling as the messages kept playing. The exhaustion and frustrations that had dogged me all morning took a backseat to each message's outpouring of love.

Writing this journal entry about the experience brings tears to my eyes.

I listened to twenty minutes of messages and they turned my morning around. As the food kicked in, I switched over to Creedence Clearwater Revival's Greatest Hits and ate up some miles.

A few hours later, hiking through the trees, I switched the messages back on and played through many more of them, several multiple times (Patrick, I played your 14-minute message three times in a row. The third time, I had it memorized well enough that I laughed at your jokes before you even made them. Sean and Annie, I meow bopped and trap queen'd with you, deep in the North Cascades). The messages put a pep in my step, or at least took a limp out of it.

Hiking today was primarily switchbacks up and down passes in the trees with no views. High work, low reward. The most interesting part of the day was the fighter jet that made several training runs through my valley. The jet was tremendously loud and did tricks like flying on its side and weaving its way between mountain peaks. I also saw a deer up close.

Tomorrow is supposed to be the most difficult day on the entire PCT, based upon elevation change (8,700 feet up, 8,600 feet down). I ate a tortilla, an entire two-serving rice side dish, a packet of tuna salad, and a Twix for dinner to prep; >1,000 calories. Let's hope tomorrow's morning is unlike today's. No matter what happens, I still have my pep-in-my-step messages.

Day 6: No Dilly-Dallying

Stehekin to mile 2,555

Miles: 15

Slept in this morning until the luxurious time of 8:45AM. One must treat oneself from time to time.

Spent the morning in Stehekin preparing to return to the trail: picked up my first resupply box from the post office, sorted my food (whatever I didn't want either went directly into my mouth or the hiker box), used the last of the spotty slow wifi to connect to the world, and bid adieu to my Australian trail mates of the first section. Hayden is sticking around Stehekin for a full rest day. James headed back to the trail on the early bus.

I snagged the late bus out of town at 2PM. It was just me, Jabba, and Badger (the two instagram famous thru hikers filming a documentary about the trail). We joked around on the bus and they shot some footage of us talking about the trail town experience.

I stepped back onto the trail expecting snow and nothing but uphill. That had been the word on the Stehekin street (There really is only one one-way street in Stehekin. That's right, no cars, just a single shuttle bus that makes four trips a day through town). I was relieved and not at all shocked to find that the trail was pretty much the same as the trail leading into Stehekin, probably because it's the same trail.

Sometimes a bridge is just a foot log. Also, the sign on the other side of the river had been defaced to read "five dollar foot log"

I had set my sites on putting in ten miles since I was getting started so late but, checking my maps, I saw that ten miles would give me a climb of 2,000 feet over the span on two miles to do first thing in the morning. Also, the mosquito and fly ridden valley made me anxious to get to higher elevations. I decided to push for 15 miles, including the doozy of a climb.

Jabba: "Film me while I eat half of this cinnamon roll. This has gotta be, like, 1,200 calories. Imma eat it in 1,200 seconds. Wait, that's not that fast."

Ten miles in, I ran into a northbound hiker and got the intel on the upcoming section. She said that there are four or so sketchy snow patches and at least a day's worth of tough, though not at all risky, snow hiking. She said that microspikes (which I have) are helpful and that she never used her ice axe (which I also have). I think that I'll check those snow sections out. If it looks passable, I'll just make sure that I go through it with someone else. Otherwise, if it looks too sketchy, I'm fine with hiking back out of this section and skipping down the trail. She also told me that there were five southbound hikers ahead of me and that the campsite that I was headed towards was medium sized. With Jabba and Badger, the ultra experienced thru hikers, right on my heels, I decided to push my pace to try to get a spot in the campsite.

I crossed my first gotta-get-in-the-water stream! Took my shoes off and waded through the wide but only shin deep water. It was freezing cold which felt immensely good on my battered and swollen feet.

Pushing your pace up an abrupt 2,000 foot climb is a challenge. This challenge is also complicated if the climb is heavily overgrown with ferns, devil's club, and other underbrush. I pushed it nonetheless.

The campsite, which I expected to be at the top of the climb on a ridge or other flat area, was actually just built into the steep mountain side. The few flat tent-sized sites were all occupied by folk from the earlier busload. They had only arrived half an hour before me though their bus was two and a half hours earlier. One couple occupied a double site with their single tent so I asked them if they could turn in sideways so I could camp beside them. "But then we'll slide into each other." Ok then, I guess I'll just go f*** myself. Actually though, I guess by some extension of the trail motto, take care of your own business, they can call dibs because they got there first. Fine. Since there's no way that I'm hiking five more miles to find another campsite, tonight will be my first cowboy camping of the trip. 

There are many ditches but this one is mine

Note: cowboy camping means camping without a tent. You put a ground sheet down (mine is basically a big rectangle of plastic bag material), you put your pad on top, you put your sleeping bag on your pad, and voila! You're cowboy camping.

2nd note: some people say that you should cowboy camp at all possible opportunities on the trail to get the full experience.

3rd note: the people who say the thing from the 2nd note can go f*** themselves. Cowboy camping is inferior to tent camping because with a tent you can put your things inside, you have privacy, you are protected from bugs/critters/the elements, you get a fleeting feeling of control over your environment on this insane abandon-all-comforts adventure.

4th and final note: Badger set up his tiny tent in a tiny space near me. As he set it up, he told me he was probably being ridiculous for setting it up and not cowboy camping. Ha ha! A show of deference to my cowboy camping badassery. That's right, Badger. I did this willingly and do this all the time. Please continue assuming things about my complete rule over the outdoors. Let me know if you have any questions.

Day 5: Speed Trial

Rainy Pass to Stehekin

Miles: 19.5

By 12:20PM today, I had hiked 19.5 miles.

Woke up at my campsite next to a parking lot at Rainy Pass. I was up early, 5:15AM, since Hayden, James, and I were shooting to make the 3:30PM shuttle from High Bridge into Stehekin. The little lake town of Stehekin, reachable only via hiking or ferry, was my next resupply and first chance at warm food in five days.

I hit the trail at 6:15AM and set a quick pace. The trail was the ideal mix of cushy pine needle ground cover, clear paths, and cool morning temperature. My Fitbit buzzed at 7:45AM letting me know that I had hit my 10,000 step goal for the day. Thanks, Fitbit, I'll factor that into my plan.

By 9:30AM, I had hit 10 miles. I caught up to Hayden and we stayed within a quarter of a mile of each other for a couple miles. At the 11 mile mark, I arrived at a new looking suspension bridge over a steep creek. Walking across it was nerve wracking since it swayed a foot from side to side. I waited on the other side for Hayden to catch up and cross it so that I could snag a pic of him. A couple hundred feet further down the trail, I paused to take another picture and Hayden passed me. Noting his accelerating pace, it only took me a moment to realize that, since it was 10AM and we had 8.5 miles to go, that he had decided to gun it for the 12:30PM shuttle. My stomach dropped since I also knew that I had no cash (still no wallet), and the shuttle into town costs $8.

Ugggggghhhhhhhhh

I speed hiked half a mile, then ran down half a mile of switchbacks and trail curves before I caught up with Hayden. He was indeed shooting for the earlier shuttle. At that point, we had two hours and 7.5 miles to go. Apparently one of us had heard of a 4mph pace, so we of course thought it was possible.

We superspeed hiked the next 5ish miles. Stopping once to check our progress via GPS, Hayden, standing behind me, pointed with his pole into the bushes thirty feet away from us, "look, a bear!" It was a young looking brown bear perusing the underbrush right off of the trail. I immediately raised my poles over my head and began banging them together to scare it away. The bear just raised its head, looked at me with wide eyes and round ears straight up, then stuck its head down and resumed its meal. Of course, seeing as my expert pole banging test had clearly identified the bear as a non-threat, we took out our phones to take pictures.

With 45 minutes and 2.5 miles to go, Hayden, hiking behind me, spoke up, "I may start getting a little jog in there, mate." I tightened all of my pack straps until the backpack had completely merged with my body. We took off running.

We arrived at the shuttle stop at 12:20PM. I had drunk 2 liters of water over the course of those 19.5 miles. I had eaten 2 granola bars and a pack of sports beans. My water bottles were empty and I could barely walk.

I climbed on the shuttle. Hayden paid the driver for both of us. There was a jug of water at the front with small paper cups. I stood in front of the jug, grabbed a cup, and filled it and downed it five times. The bus driver was unenthused. I slumped into a seat next to James who had also shot for the early shuttle but had left an hour earlier than us, thereby avoiding the miles of sprinting. "Looks like you did some running." I told him we had and he said that we should have left earlier.

I ate an entire package of salami during the half hour shuttle into town. The shuttle was full of teenagers on their way home from a 3 day backpacking trip. They were excited to be done and yelled and laughed the whole way. One of them showed me a picture on his phone that he took on the PCT two miles before the shuttle stop. It was a nest of rattle snakes with a huge mother rattler coiled up on top and staring directly into the camera. Good thing we had sprinted over that.

Stehekin was surreal. This was the first time that, as a thru-hiker, I was in the minority. I felt really dirty and smelly. I hadn't looked in a mirror in five days so didn't know if I had food or boogers on my face. Hayden was blissfully unaware of the granola bar crumbs covering the lower part of his face - making me more nervous about my own appearance. The Stehekin shop door had a sign saying "no backpacks."

I spent the afternoon sorting everything out and relaxing. I bought a wifi code to check into the world and make calls. I bought a bottle of root beer, an ice cream sandwich, and junior mints for a morale snack (somehow I remember all of my credit card numbers so I got the store to manually plug the numbers in to pay for my snacks). I showered (5 minutes, coin operated). I talked the shop owner into printing my PCT permit. I threw some of my clothes into a wash load with other hikers. I used an actual pay phone - wasting about a quarter of my calling card on wrong numbers due to user error. I charged my phone and external battery using the only outlet I could find. There was a two-outlet plug behind the washing mashing, with one outlet unused by the machine. By pulling the washer 10 inches away from the wall, I could fit my devices back there and plug in.

Ate dinner at the Stehekin restaurant: burger, beer battered fries, blue cheese side salad, and Sierra Nevada beer (shout out to NoCal). Warm food tasted so good. My stove-using dinner-mates all wolfed their meals down within fifteen minutes. It took me an hour to finish mine.

There were a bunch of other thru-hikers at the campground, mostly younger guys who had picked up six packs and were chatting loudly. They invited me over, kindly. I stayed for a couple minutes, long enough to hear that one of them, a tiny skinny guy, had been charged by a moose near hart's pass. He avoided the moose by diving off of the trail into a muddy ditch.

I set up my tent for the first time in the dark and was out in minutes.

Day 4: Trail Friends

Mile 2614 to 2589

Miles: 25

Woke up in another landscape painting. I was sore and achy, but felt energized and like all I needed was a good stretch to start hiking.

James had already packed up and left, as usual, before I got out of my tent. He usually hits the trail at 6AM each day. Maybe someday I'll start that early in the morning, but for now I'm happy to maximize my sleep and recovery time.

I paced back and forth to avoid the packs of mosquitos as I packed up camp and made breakfast. The carnation instant breakfast went down easily. To get away from the mosquitos, I tucked my granola bar in my shorts to eat once I started hiking. Unless I'm significantly above the tree line on a ridge or mountain, the mosquitos are abundant and ravenous. I don't mind it that much but they keep biting my head through my hat; apparently that's where I draw the line.

I took off right at 8AM. Today's theme, as we had seen from the maps, was ten miles of downhill followed by ten miles of uphill. I had not taken it entirely seriously and thought of it more as ten miles of downhill "on average." I found out very quickly that is was, simply put, ten miles of steep downhill switchbacks. I descended from the ridge where we had camped down an enormous slope of gravely switchbacks, into a valley where the trail was overgrown and every plant looked like poison oak, and then up miles and miles of switchbacks onto another ridge. 

The morning was my longest segment of solitude on the trail so far. I hiked for five hours, about 13 miles, without seeing another human being. My mind was full of thoughts about the trail, missing Emily and home, and what I hope to get out of this whole endeavor. I grew introspective to the point that, at the 10 mile point when I stopped at a creek to refill water and rest, I practiced some tunes on the harmonica and my eyes teared up. I was surprised at how my emotions were so close to the surface. This hike strips you down.

The views from the afternoon ridge were the best so far. I could see layers of mountain ranges in the distance, a valley below that scooped up into the ridge across, and I could see the trail extend for miles along the inside of the ridge and onto a distant crest.

Arriving at the top of the ridge, I caught up with James who was resting in the shade of a pine. He takes the approach of hike early and take breaks often. James and I sat and chatted, eventually Hayden caught up with us as well and the three of us talked about the trail and our sore parts. A few minutes after Hayden's arrival, two hikers that I had met on the trail a couple hours earlier walked up, Badger and Jabba. They asked us if they could interview us for a trail documentary about the social aspect since we were "a group who are hiking together." James chimed in that "we're not really a group." But they said that since we had camped together a couple nights and seemed to be hiking the same pace, it seemed like we were, at least in the moment, the type of group that forms on the trail. We all said "sure" to the interview request and they filmed us individually and asked us questions about our highlights and lowlights of the trail so far.

The others departed but I lagged behind for a moment on the ridge. I was so used to hiking alone, that is was almost automatic to give them some space before I set off down the trail. James and Hayden hiked together, I could see them a half mile or so ahead. I stopped to purify water and the gap widened. 

We had talked about hiking 20 miles to a campsite. Though I kept it in mind that I'd likely meet up with them there, hiking far behind them I finally realized that this might be the first night I camp alone. I was excited by the idea.

After traversing the ridgeline and climbing right over a peak, I caught up with them a couple hours later. They were resting and chatting about hiking five miles further to a campsite t a parking lot on the trail. I felt strong and my feet were holding up well, plus I was elated to have company again, so I said "sounds great!"

The three of us hiked together for the rest of the afternoon. My first time this trip hiking with others and chatting as we went. We talked about our lives, Hayden's time as an Australian Football player and James' Buddhist studies and world travels. We made an effort to let each other catch up as we went so that we could tick together. That might sound like a small effort, but on a hike with the motto "hike your own hike" where people are expected to take care of themselves and not others, adjusting our paces to match each other seemed significant.

James joked that I'd have an Australian accent before long.

We set up camp and chatted over dinner. We're all excited to be making good progress so early in the trip, and to have some company, at least for the moment.

Day 3: Finding My Pace

Mile 2635 through Hart's Pass to mile 2614

Miles: 22 (including hike into Hart's Pass the long way)

I woke up without much in the tank today. I was 16 miles out of Hart's Pass, where I had started two days earlier, and I told myself that I'd be happy with those 16 miles for the day. That would bring my average mileage to 20/day, right at my target that I had set for the first few legs of the hike.

My feet were a challenge again this morning. I could feel blisters forming along my arches, but with blisters on a few of my toes and hot spots on my heels, I didn't know how to step differently to keep my feet in good shape. I leaned heavily on my poles and must have looked like I was half crutching, half vaulting my way down the trail.

I filled my hip belt pockets with snacks before setting out as I've enjoyed eating while hiking these first couple days. Not only does it mean that I can eat whenever I'm hungry, but the process of eating while walking is a distraction that's especially helpful during grueling switchback climbs. Thanks to my constant snacking, I really only take time to eat breakfast and a late day dinner meal. Other beaks have been limited to 10 minutes or so to rest my legs and purify water.

I've found that I'm happy at a slightly slower but continuous pace. So long as my pace is relaxed enough that I can drink water while walking without gasping for air, I'm comfortable. Hayden, the Australian who I've camped with every night so far, hikes faster but takes longer breaks. We ended up passing each other three times today.

Hiking toward Hart's I grew more and more ecstatic to return to the beginning of my hike and to finally hike some new miles. It felt like a homecoming, even though I was there just the day before yesterday.

I rolled into Hart's, resupplied my food from the stash that I had left there, and chatted with a few other hikers and a trail angel who had just driven up to drop off a van full of hikers. I've found that along the trail most everyone is friendly, happy, and ready to stop for a moment to chat. Some folks just say "hi" without stopping, but I still had over a dozen short conversations today. A lot of "where are you headed?" "Where are you from?" "Where's the next water?" "When does this uphill stretch end?" but some longer conversations. One person today told me that I look like the guy from the show Mr. Robot. Will have to look it up post-trail.

At Hart's Pass, I met up again with Hayden and JP, another Aussie who was one of my camp mates last night. They resupplied their packs then both set out from Hart's to a campsite six miles away. They had encouraged me to join but I told them that Hart's was my intended destination.

Interesting turn of events: I realized yesterday that I left my wallet at home. By wallet, I mean my passport into which I had crammed my ID, my credit and debit cards, and cash. I also forgot to print my permit and bring it with me.

Fast forward to this afternoon, I'm resting in Hart's around 3:30 PM, eating salami and cheese and starting to think about finding a spot to camp, so I ask the ranger how camping in the campground works for PCT hikers. Short story: you have to pay. Alternatively, you can hike two miles down the trail and then about a quarter of a mile off the trail to free normal PCT campsites.

So I decided to catch up with the Aussies. Putting on my pack, my muscles ached but somehow my feet felt better than the morning. I geared up, popped my headphones in for only the second time and listened to Neil Gaiman's Anansi Boys as I hiked.

The six miles were gorgeous; the trail climbed gradually and traversed across mountains with views of the valley below and the saw-toothed ranges beyond. In the late day golden light, it was the most beautiful section of the PCT so far.

I was welcomed into camp by a cheer from the Aussies. They wagered that I'd continue past Hart's and join them. We slowly did our end of day camp chores while chatting about life stories. It felt good to finally get to know some folks on the trail.

Lessons of the day: take breaks, eat cheese, keep hiking

Day 2: The Swing of Things

Woody Pass to the Northern Terminus of the PCT and back to mile 2635

Miles: 26

I AM OFFICIALLY HIKING SOUTHBOUND!

Today was a perfect day, but now my brain feels sluggish from 11.5 hours of hiking and 26 miles.

I woke up this morning to the rays of the sun climbing the massive rocky peaks on either of Woody Pass. From the opposite direction, foreboding dark gray clouds rolled in. Hayden and I reassured each other that "it's just morning fog." Fog or not, the clouds burned off quickly.

Emerging from my tent at 7AM, I felt like the tin man before Dorothy oils him up. My body hurt just as much as when I finished the trail yesterday. Aren't I supposed to be fully refreshed every day? How is this sustainable if I'm not recovering?

I pooped in the woods (first of the trip!) and felt better.

For my morning meal, I drank a vanilla carnation instant breakfast and ate a flour tortilla smeared with almond butter. Everything turned to paste in my mouth. One downside of not cooking anything: everything is paste.

I stretched while I ate. I wondered if my old fencing stretching routine is applicable to hiking, but the ritual felt meditative and, most of all, it took my mind off the paste.

I took my time to chat with Hayden and pack up camp. Finally, I strapped on my pack and set off on the trail. Well, I didn't set off. I began limping up the rocky uphill terrain. Due to my slow and irregular pace, I began reducing my expectations for the day and thinking of other places to camp.

A mile under my belt, I found myself navigating a thin trail along a scree-covered mountain face, with the Northern Cascades bathed in morning sunlight across the valleys from me. Also, the breakfast of carb paste kicked in. Both of these were huge morale boosters and the tin man received a squirt of oil.

Within a few hours, I was hiking down Holman Pass, the biggest elevation change on this segment, and my body finally felt rejuvenated. I was cruising, eating a granola bar, exclaiming out loud to myself about views, and was ready to push through to the border. Even though I was apprehensive about the nine miles of downhill that I was hiking since I'd have to retrace my steps later in the day, I managed to ride that wave of energy down the pass, through four miles of heavy underbrush and, around 1 PM, I arrived at the end of the trail. Jackpot.

I was the only one at the terminus when I arrived. I immediately broke federal law and walked twenty feet into Canada to pee.

Interesting factoid: the USA/Canadian border is a clear-cut 40-foot wide line through the forest. It looks like a strip of power lines through the woods sans power lines.

Hayden, Dustin from Oklahoma, and a couple showed up promptly at the border. We took turns taking photos of each other in a range of power poses. I ate my five-star backpacking meal: an olive oil flavored tortilla with slices of rosemary romano cheese and salami slices. It was a proper celebration for the first 30 miles and the beginning of my southbound journey.

I signed the trail register at the terminus. Glancing back through the entries, I saw Whistler's from a couple days earlier: "hike fast, shit fast."

I added an electrolyte tab to one water bottle and Gatorade powder to the other. As I set off on the trail, some combination of the real beginning of my southbound journey, my delicious lunch, and those electrolytes sent me flying up the trail. Well, flying at 2-2.5 mph pace, but the uphill miles came easy.

In the mid afternoon, my right foot began aching intensely, too much to hike on it. I sat down and loosened my laces and the ache went away within twenty feet. Half a mile later, I felt a hot spot on my heel due to my foot moving around in my loosened shoe. Fearing blisters, I tightened my laces. I proceeded to repeat this switch every two-ish miles for the rest of the day. In the end, no heel blister! I do have weird reddish marks along the arches of my feet; not exactly surprising given the dozens of miles.

Hayden and I had talked about camping in the same spot, making it a 20-mile day. He had mentioned that he may push farther though and over another pass to a bigger campsite if he had the energy. I managed to keep up my second wind and, though my dogs were barking, I hiked through Woody Pass, over Rock Pass, and to a big campsite a couple miles further. There were already four guys at the site, but plenty of space for more. I set my tent up right in front of the other hikers and felt self-conscious about my gear. It's good gear and appears brand new (I've taken it out one time but kept it pristine for this hike). The guys asked me if I had ever used the tent before since the stake-lines looked totally clean. I said, "Well, not for a thru-hike." Uh, duh.

I'm excited about the miles that I put in today, but even more for the high morale that I kept all day thanks to my food and water intake. Though as I write this my knees and ankles are freezing up, this tin man is going to find some oil again tomorrow.

Day 1: The Full Emotional Range

Harts Pass to Woody Pass

Miles: 20

My mom and I drove up to the trailhead this morning from our motel in Winthrop. Well fed and somewhat rested from a short but fit full night of sleep, I was nervous and excited and cautiously optimistic about the trail. We drove our rental up the sketchy roads to the trailhead and, due to construction and a leisurely start, arrived around 10AM. There was a bustle at the trailhead of cars arriving, day hikers asking folks for advice, and thru hikers rolling into the pass from their pilgrimage to the border. It's all south from here for them.

The first thru hiker I met was named Whistler. About 17 years old with a balaclava pulled up over the back of his head and dark brown tanned legs, he fully looked the part. I said hey and we chatted for a moment, but it wasn't until my mom started offering him all our excess food from the car that he really lit up. In all, she gave him and he consumed on the spot:

1 frappucino

1 banana

1 pint of green superfood juice

1/2 lb of steak slices straight from a ziplock bag

We chatted and he gave me some intel about the total lack of snow, the mosquitos, and the beautiful sights between us and the border. I checked the trip registry notebook, Whistler had written his name, the date, and "eat ass, smoke grass." My dive into the thru-hiker world has begun.

My mom and I drove a little ways up the road to another trailhead, I prepped my pack, we took some "before" pics, and said our goodbyes. She's really nervous about the trip, understandably, so I reassured her a bit more. Finally, at 10:45AM (when many hikers will have already put in a bunch of miles) I hit the trail. My initial feelings were shock, a bit of fear, and that weird spooked feeling you get when you're fully alone. I've cut the lifelines but what if I need help? What if I fail because I just hate this and I quit? What if everyone else hikes faster than me? What if I do everything right but then get shin splints or some other nagging injury that forces me off the trail?

I hiked ten miles before I stopped for lunch. The fears had only lasted a mile or two before I was overcome with the euphoria of being in an incredibly beautiful place and finally diving into my dream trip. I had cruised on my Day 1 adrenaline and hiked at a 3 mph clip all morning. Those first ten miles were all along ridge lines with enormous views of the Northern Cascades and the valleys between the mountains. The elevation change was minimal and a tiny voice said to me, "maybe this will be a breeze."

I ate a lunch of my final homemade sandwiches (dry food from here on out) beside a stream along with three other thru-hikers headed in my same direction. We all ashamedly introduced ourselves using our real names as none of us yet have trail names.

After lunch, I ran into another thru-hiker sitting next to a stream. The air around him was thick with pot smoke and, over the course of our three minute conversation, he told me his trail name is Hurlgoat, as well as the story that earned him that name. I was jealous of his trail name, even though he's named after a long night of drinking that ended with him throwing up goat-tamales.

The afternoon was tough. I was very careful to eat and drink enough but I still just vacillated between too full of food/liquid, and parched/ravenous. I think that nutrition and hydration is going to be a major learning area during this trip. In the afternoon, I hit the big elevation changes. First came the downhill switchbacks covered in fist sized rocks that tweaked both knees and ankles with every step. Then came the grueling uphill switchbacks that left me sucking the thin air and, first, finding a good spot to sit next to the trail, then plopping down anywhere beside the trail to catch my breath, and finally simply crumpling in the middle of the trail. I downed water and swatted away mosquitos with a bandana. I also started noticing blue marks on the outer sides of my calves but couldn't find the source; until I realized that the tops of my barely worn in new shoes were melting off onto my skin. Haha! Adventure!

Eventually, I put in my earbuds to listen to soothing Andrew Bird and I ate a Gatorade branded protein bar the size of my forearm. It was really just a snickers bar in disguise, which was exactly what I needed.

With the uphill struggle of miles 13-17 came doubt and worries again. What if this sucks and everyone who said that they would never do something like this are right? What if I hate this but have to pretend that I love it since I so publicly declared my intentions? What if every minute of these 2.5 months is dragged out to feel like an eternity?

Then I started walking downhill, the view opened up again, and I saw a marmot. Full 180 degree switch back to the "this is the most amazing place and adventure" mindset. The marmot, which had a sweet looking brown and white and black coat, ran away from me then posed on a rock and gave me side eyes as if judging me for my earlier loss of morale. I'm sorry mountain marmot, I won't let myself get down this early in the game.

I camped with Hayden the Australian who's thru-hiking even though he's never backpacked before.

I could barely choke down my first dinner of re-hydrated mashed potatoes and tuna, but I got to brush my teeth with a sunset view of craggy peaks and a steep evergreen valley. Some tough, some incredible. I think I'm figuring it out. Or maybe, Whistler is right after all.

Re-Supply Prep!

On the left: seven days of no-cook backpacking food. On the right: Rick and Morty keeps me from death-by-boredom while calculating months worth of jerky and chips calories. 

Six re-supply boxes about to be delivered to the post office three minutes before it closed. Hopefully that's the extent of the excitement in their box-lives. 

I'll start with the big question

If only it was practical to rep full Blazers gear on the trail

“Why?” is most folks’ response when they find out that I’m hiking the PCT, so it seems a fitting place to start my trail journal.

It’s a tough question. I’ve known to my core that hiking the trail was my dream since 2014 when I started reading PCT hiker trail journals online. Since then, whenever I open my computer in an absent-minded “let’s see what’s on the internet” kind of way, it only takes a few minutes before I inevitably drift toward checking out new backpacking gear and reading up on my favorite hikers’ exploits.

But why would I want to subject myself to months sleeping on the ground? Why would I want to abandon indoor plumbing? Why the hell am I setting out on the trail without a stove?

To summarize:

“You’ve got to be CRAZY” –my Uncle John

So, I’ve thought about it a bit, and here are some of the reasons why I can’t wait to get out onto the trail, poop in the woods, eat cold ramen, get sunburned, and climb mountains:

Just to be outside and active. Hiking has been a way for me to let the anxieties of daily life subside, have the silliest and deepest conversations with friends and new acquaintances, and to do some deep thinking. Basically, I feel most like myself when I’m moving around outside.

The Challenge. Capitalization there is intentional. I think to say that “hard things are worth doing because they’re hard” overly simplifies it. I’d change that to “hard things are worth doing because the challenge lets you learn about yourself, grow, and collect interesting stories that become a part of your identity.” That’s the perspective that I’m going to try taking into my hike: whenever I’m soaked in rain, or cold, or staring down a stream crossing that’s especially tricky, I’ll consider it a Challenge. On Big Brother, the reality TV show that Em and I have watched for the past three summers, they have Challenges all the time to earn privileges and status. Stream crossings are just like that, right?

To see the Pacific Northwest. The part of the world to which I feel most closely connected is Oregon, Washington, and parts of California. I’d like to see that land, learn about it, meet more people who live in it, and feel even closer to it.

Because of a pic of my Uncle Steven. He did the Oregon section of the PCT and I’ve grown up seeing a cool black and white picture of him with a huge pack.

So, overall, I know that I want to do this hike and I have some ideas of why it's meaningful, but most of all I'm confident that I'll find a whole slew of new and unexpected reasons along the way. For now, I'm just preparing at a sprint so that I can hit this adventure with speed.