03.29.18
I’m sitting in a coffee shop in Idyllwild Ca typing on the iPhone in what looks like .5 font one key at a time. Laundry is churning down the street for a few minutes and some kind of Irish punk rock is playing softly in the background. I’ve been keeping journals updated every night but I’ve found that after 15-20 miles and getting a tent set up my perspective is usually lacking. But today is what we call a ‘zero’ day meaning no walking, trying to find showers, warm meals, even soft beds if we’re lucky. It just gives the body time to heal. Right now everyone I’ve been hiking with has at least one or two injuries, all foot-related, on top of sunburns and sore shoulders. The feet take the brunt of all this. I’ve avoided blisters somehow. I seem to be the only one without them and I think it’s because I’m walking in running shoes that have more heel flex. On the other hand I’m the only one recovering from shin splints. Just the left ankle and up a few inches. I slowed my pace the past couple days and it’s on its way to recovery but all that said: I’m on the PCT! This is literally the first day I think I’ve had enough rest and perspective to say anything coherent so here it goes:
On the morning of the 19th my friend Allison dropped me at the Us/Mexican border just outside the town of Campo, Ca. There’s a little group of spires to show you the Pacific Crest Trail Southern Terminus and just a few feet south of that is the existing border wall.
So, I stalled...triple-checked everything, and slung the pack over my shoulders. Fully weighed down with water and food it’s pushing about 36 lbs. Not light but not impossible either. As the day goes on and aches set up indifferent parts of the back or neck, straps are constantly being adjusted and moved about. 30 minutes on the hips. 30 minutes on the shoulders. Left shoulder, right shoulder etc and straps move about depending on whether I’m going uphill, downhill, or flat as well.
After 152 miles I’ve decided my favorite terrain is just a slight incline. Other hikers agree but we’re not totally sure as to why. Downhills are just brutal and slow and tough on the knees.
The first thoughts after leaving the border were pretty much along the lines of: ‘Wow. This is happening.’ Five hours later my thought were: ‘Wow, this happening’. And I don’t think I got out of that state of mind for about five days.
The PCT is its own subculture with its own rules and ways of being that generally revolve around a few very simple concepts:
1.) water: always have your water in order even if it means carrying an amount that slows you down a bit. Always pass on info to other hikers about everything-especially water. Now, I have an app that tells me where the next water source is and it usually tells me if the water is flowing (which it often isn’t) and the quality of it i.e. do I need to filter or boil it. Most places I just filter either way. Two days ago a went off-trail 1/4 mile to find a tiny spring emptying into a cement hole the size of a shoebox and full of mosquito larvae. Next water was three miles or so down the trail-so I sauntered on and filled up an hour later. Every day these rdscissions come into play. The most amazing thing is when people we call Trail Angels leave giant caches of fresh water jugs along the way. It’s noy something you want to rely on but when you find one of these caches it’s a glorious moment.
2.) food: trail food isn’t something you’d want to eat more than once a day back home but it’s pretty much all I subsist on. High-calorie high-fat snacks with tons of nuts, grains, and more nuts. I have cheezits, granola bars, fruit snacks, pop-tarts, smoked sausages, cheese, and even a 1,000 calorie per bag mix of nuts, seeds, and oils that are sort of glued together with honey that I made back home. Either way, I’m not a fan. And since I pre-packed all this in bags with 5,000 calories each and have them sent to me from My friend Travis (thanks dude!!!) it’s pretty much all I eat. But then I come through a town and this mythical condition called "hiker hunger" immediately kicks in and I start craving burgers and salty/fatty things almost immediately. Yesterday I was finishing 22 miles and was so beyond tired that I felt like I wasn’t part of my body-just this moving machine that sort of leaned forward and dragged i tslimbs. The last part of that stretch led me to the Paradise Diner at a junction up in the hills and I had to stare at it for the last 1/2 mile watching slowly slowly get closer. It was worth it. The truth is, no hiker I’ve spoken to is excited about trail food. It’s just fuel to get you and your body from one campsite to another. So these zero days are critical for morale, food, healing, and getting the dirt out from under your fingernails.
3.) weather: a day can see an elevated gain or drop of 2-3000 feet so you’re traversing different distinct climates every hour or so. It’s perfectly common to wake up in a rain-soaked tent, walk ten miles through cholla cactus and granite then into manzanita fields. Jackets come off. Then into pines and jackets come back on and that can happen 2-3 times per day. Last week we had to hide between manzanita bushes and huge granite boulders while 50 mph winds and rain hammered us through the night. The next morning was a muddy mess but an hour after sunrise, the clouds parted and a giant rainbow dropped right over the trail.
Every day is like this. A kind of give and take. Waking with the sun. Sleeping under stars. Wake up with birds and rustling sleeping bags. Cram some food into your pockets so you can eat on the trail. Get everything into the bag and start walking. Find a water source. Check your water. Make a call on how much you really need vs weight...Keep walking. Break for snacks. Try to get in ten miles before noon. Eat as much as you can for lunch. Re-hydrate. Keep walking. Another break. Keep walking. Another water source. Another break. Keep walking. Eventually stumble into what hopefully constitutes a decent camp spot in the afternoon. Shoes come off. 30 minutes just lying in the dirt staring at clouds and letting the body do nothing.
People are unbelievably open and helpful. When you meet other hikers on the trail a 30 min conversation can consist entirely or sharing information and ideas and weighing options. There’s always something you haven’t considered before. Some days you might have more energy and got a few extra minutes to read the maps and reports and you just pas everything along. No information is bad information.
So the first day I started ten minutes after a girl from Switzerland and caught up to her a few hours later. We came into the first big campground together and after a few days there was about 7-8 of us. Some people want to be around other people on those first stressful nights. Some people have already done thru-hikes and couldn’t care less if they have company. Our little group had three kids from California, one from Israel, Maryland, and Phoenix. We did the first week together but I agreed to break off with Anne, the Swiss girl because group dynamics are just too chaotic to wrangle everyone’s food drops, culinary needs, etc. plus we’re both in our thirties and I think we’re not in PCT party mode here.
The past two days we walked about 40 miles over two mountain ranges. At the end up the day it’s just mind-boggling to look back at a hazy blue peak and know that you just went over it a few hours before. If you’d have told me to join you on a hike ‘over a few mountain ranges’ a few months ago I would have politely declined. The idea just wasn’t part of my imagination. Now it’s becoming routine and despite the shin splints and aches and the way I shake my head when I come over one pass only to find yet another...it feels insanely good. In the midst of that rainstorm I realized I’d only been gone 5 days...but it felt like a month.
The brain processes everything differently. Nature has no right angles, no instant need for symmetry and definitely no desire to cater to human psychological needs. And yet...after every town so far, I find myself just wanting to get back out there. It’s tougher and easier at the same time.
The moment you step into a town the need for money is instantaneous. Money runs everything in the human world...and it’s not bad per se, it’s just more blatant when’s you’re apart from it for days on end.
Anyway, I will wrap this up for now because the laundry is done but I’ll try and write some more before bed too while I have time.
On the morning of the 19th my friend Allison dropped me at the Us/Mexican border just outside the town of Campo, Ca. There’s a little group of spires to show you the Pacific Crest Trail Southern Terminus and just a few feet south of that is the existing border wall.
So, I stalled...triple-checked everything, and slung the pack over my shoulders. Fully weighed down with water and food it’s pushing about 36 lbs. Not light but not impossible either. As the day goes on and aches set up indifferent parts of the back or neck, straps are constantly being adjusted and moved about. 30 minutes on the hips. 30 minutes on the shoulders. Left shoulder, right shoulder etc and straps move about depending on whether I’m going uphill, downhill, or flat as well.
After 152 miles I’ve decided my favorite terrain is just a slight incline. Other hikers agree but we’re not totally sure as to why. Downhills are just brutal and slow and tough on the knees.
The first thoughts after leaving the border were pretty much along the lines of: ‘Wow. This is happening.’ Five hours later my thought were: ‘Wow, this happening’. And I don’t think I got out of that state of mind for about five days.
The PCT is its own subculture with its own rules and ways of being that generally revolve around a few very simple concepts:
1.) water: always have your water in order even if it means carrying an amount that slows you down a bit. Always pass on info to other hikers about everything-especially water. Now, I have an app that tells me where the next water source is and it usually tells me if the water is flowing (which it often isn’t) and the quality of it i.e. do I need to filter or boil it. Most places I just filter either way. Two days ago a went off-trail 1/4 mile to find a tiny spring emptying into a cement hole the size of a shoebox and full of mosquito larvae. Next water was three miles or so down the trail-so I sauntered on and filled up an hour later. Every day these rdscissions come into play. The most amazing thing is when people we call Trail Angels leave giant caches of fresh water jugs along the way. It’s noy something you want to rely on but when you find one of these caches it’s a glorious moment.
2.) food: trail food isn’t something you’d want to eat more than once a day back home but it’s pretty much all I subsist on. High-calorie high-fat snacks with tons of nuts, grains, and more nuts. I have cheezits, granola bars, fruit snacks, pop-tarts, smoked sausages, cheese, and even a 1,000 calorie per bag mix of nuts, seeds, and oils that are sort of glued together with honey that I made back home. Either way, I’m not a fan. And since I pre-packed all this in bags with 5,000 calories each and have them sent to me from My friend Travis (thanks dude!!!) it’s pretty much all I eat. But then I come through a town and this mythical condition called "hiker hunger" immediately kicks in and I start craving burgers and salty/fatty things almost immediately. Yesterday I was finishing 22 miles and was so beyond tired that I felt like I wasn’t part of my body-just this moving machine that sort of leaned forward and dragged i tslimbs. The last part of that stretch led me to the Paradise Diner at a junction up in the hills and I had to stare at it for the last 1/2 mile watching slowly slowly get closer. It was worth it. The truth is, no hiker I’ve spoken to is excited about trail food. It’s just fuel to get you and your body from one campsite to another. So these zero days are critical for morale, food, healing, and getting the dirt out from under your fingernails.
3.) weather: a day can see an elevated gain or drop of 2-3000 feet so you’re traversing different distinct climates every hour or so. It’s perfectly common to wake up in a rain-soaked tent, walk ten miles through cholla cactus and granite then into manzanita fields. Jackets come off. Then into pines and jackets come back on and that can happen 2-3 times per day. Last week we had to hide between manzanita bushes and huge granite boulders while 50 mph winds and rain hammered us through the night. The next morning was a muddy mess but an hour after sunrise, the clouds parted and a giant rainbow dropped right over the trail.
Every day is like this. A kind of give and take. Waking with the sun. Sleeping under stars. Wake up with birds and rustling sleeping bags. Cram some food into your pockets so you can eat on the trail. Get everything into the bag and start walking. Find a water source. Check your water. Make a call on how much you really need vs weight...Keep walking. Break for snacks. Try to get in ten miles before noon. Eat as much as you can for lunch. Re-hydrate. Keep walking. Another break. Keep walking. Another water source. Another break. Keep walking. Eventually stumble into what hopefully constitutes a decent camp spot in the afternoon. Shoes come off. 30 minutes just lying in the dirt staring at clouds and letting the body do nothing.
People are unbelievably open and helpful. When you meet other hikers on the trail a 30 min conversation can consist entirely or sharing information and ideas and weighing options. There’s always something you haven’t considered before. Some days you might have more energy and got a few extra minutes to read the maps and reports and you just pas everything along. No information is bad information.
So the first day I started ten minutes after a girl from Switzerland and caught up to her a few hours later. We came into the first big campground together and after a few days there was about 7-8 of us. Some people want to be around other people on those first stressful nights. Some people have already done thru-hikes and couldn’t care less if they have company. Our little group had three kids from California, one from Israel, Maryland, and Phoenix. We did the first week together but I agreed to break off with Anne, the Swiss girl because group dynamics are just too chaotic to wrangle everyone’s food drops, culinary needs, etc. plus we’re both in our thirties and I think we’re not in PCT party mode here.
The past two days we walked about 40 miles over two mountain ranges. At the end up the day it’s just mind-boggling to look back at a hazy blue peak and know that you just went over it a few hours before. If you’d have told me to join you on a hike ‘over a few mountain ranges’ a few months ago I would have politely declined. The idea just wasn’t part of my imagination. Now it’s becoming routine and despite the shin splints and aches and the way I shake my head when I come over one pass only to find yet another...it feels insanely good. In the midst of that rainstorm I realized I’d only been gone 5 days...but it felt like a month.
The brain processes everything differently. Nature has no right angles, no instant need for symmetry and definitely no desire to cater to human psychological needs. And yet...after every town so far, I find myself just wanting to get back out there. It’s tougher and easier at the same time.
The moment you step into a town the need for money is instantaneous. Money runs everything in the human world...and it’s not bad per se, it’s just more blatant when’s you’re apart from it for days on end.
Anyway, I will wrap this up for now because the laundry is done but I’ll try and write some more before bed too while I have time.
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