2021 Pacific Crest Trail Thru-hike

Sep

2021

I don’t know how to roadtrip.

“It’s fine,” I said, even though my entire body was clenched in the passenger seat of our silver Toyota Corolla. In the dim fluorescent light that only barely cast Toes’ hands into a visible spectrum I could see how hard he was squeezing the steering wheel. It was a nice Corolla. It has done everything right for us since picking it up last minute from the Reno airport. It practically drives for us. It is such a very nice Corolla. But we forgot to feed it. I don’t know anything about all of this road trip business. Every time I cross the country, it’s up and down, and on foot. I have devoted the last couple of years of my life to pursuing a breath of freedom via that tiny, soulful stretch of trail between Canada and Mexico along the PCT only to be stopped by powers beyond my control. My brain, ever turning all things negative into a positive light whether the positive is truthful or not, reverted to basic instinct mode of *FiNd dIFFerEnT tRaiL* Let me tell you, the middle of the desert in eastern California is not a place conducive to getting anywhere else without a car. Bishop, CA seems to be somewhere that everyone shows up for no real reason, then finds that they are unable to leave. The town has a population of around 4,000 spread across the patch of desert in the Owen Valley below the Sierra Nevada mountains I was coming to love so much, but at any time there are over 10,000 there. As we wandered through the asphalt turns we asked a fella if he knew where, exactly, the bus stop was. He said “I have no idea. I’m not even supposed to be here. I stopped to get lunch 3 days ago and my car hasn’t started since and I can’t figure out why.” The west is weird. I think back to this man, stuck in the west somewhere he isn’t supposed to be, and realize I have no idea where I am supposed to be if not right here, right now. Toes and I have different thresholds and ways to display or deal with stress. I can not begin to define the difference or the limits, but it always seems to work out that at least one of us keeps the ability to calmly rationalize the steps in front of us. Today, just about an hour ago, we both surpassed the stress to hit cool calm clarity at the same time: We are screwed. When we passed the last bastion of civiliation on this dusty stretch of I80, there was a quarter of a tank of gas. Little did we know, Wendover, NV is a very long ways away from the westernmost gas station on the Utah side. Turns out, it is about exactly a quarter tank of gas away. Google told us that the next closest open gas was 44 miles away still, and this sweet precious Corolla had been obnoxiously begging to be fed for so long the gas gauge dropped depressingly below the empty line. We are so hyper focused on getting back to a trail, we forgot the real life rules that one must follow to move from place to place in a metal box that speeds along the earth at a pace my hiking brain cannot fathom. 20 miles is all day to me, not a quarter hour on the interstate. We even discussed how crazy it is that our perception of time and distance is so skewed. We did not discuss the reality of gallons per mile, only how magical it was to be going anywhere at all. Sublime is on the radio, but the car is stuffed with only silence and fear as we see an exit sign. There is a gas station. It’s not listed on Google because the inside is closed, but will we still be able to get gas? I imagine the car begins to sputter. I think how lucky we are to run out of gas so close to a gas station. I look around to figure out how we are going to both sleep in this little car. So grateful for our warm down sleeping bags. I have accepted the inevitability. As soon as we pull up, another car pulls up and a desperate man gets out of his black SUV. He is desperate because his card isn’t working and he doesn’t have gas. We are somewhere called the “Tooele Valley.” Eerily close to my trail name, Toodles. Thankfully, blissfully, the gas tank works after hours and we are able to not only fill our tank, but help out another person who was in the exact situation we had been so terrified of. On the PCT, my hiking friends and I constantly remind each other that we are exactly where we are supposed to be. We believe it. We put in the work, hiked on the hard days when we wanted to take other options. We pushed those extra few miles in the evenings, even though we didn’t necessarily have to. We gave ourselves to that damn trail. In return, we were always where we were supposed to be. In Washington, at the right place to meet friends both new and old. Somewhere on a mountain that I get to see the sky and clouds just so. On the Bridge of the Gods, when a random truck played our favorite obscure song. In Oregon, when we arrive at places just in time for surprise special events and shows. In and out of towns just in time to avoid smoke. At Crater Lake on the only clear day in weeks. Through the Caldor fire just before it closed the trail. Through Kennedy Meadows before closures extended. At Yosemite in time to magically get half dome permits and meet a friend from TN who was willing to go out of his way to help us get around. The list goes on and on. I have to keep that list going, because from outward appearances it would seem that my luck has run out. I am even reminded right now as I type this, because I do not know whether my PCT experience is past tense or present. After accounting for skipping around the Dixie fire and Lionshead closure, we walked all the way to the Sawmill Pass trail in the Sierra. 1,200 miles until California decreed the forests closed and when we left to get more food, we were not allowed back. I am always exactly where I am supposed to be. Even when I don’t want to be there. I met some amazing folks in Bishop, CA. I was so lucky for another chance to go back to Reno to see Alyson. I was elated to reconnect with Pancake and Viewfinder, friends we haven’t seen since Stehekin, WA. I chose, and still choose, to focus on the positive. It was a whirlwind of a few days since leaving the PCT, and decision making is hard when everything you have planned and worked for goes out the window. Toes and I took a while to make the decision to leave California and get a rental car to Denver, CO. When hiking, all you have to do is keep taking steps. Off trail, it is disheartening how expensive and difficult it is to get from one place to another. I could hike for over a month on what it cost to travel away from the PCT and it’s closed national forests. But, the decision has been made and there was nothing left to do but do it. It seems like every SOBO on the PCT is now on the Colorado Trail, and I’m excited to join them. I think these nearly 500 miles between Denver and Durango are going to be exactly what I need to sate my thru hiking appetite, and soothe my anxieties about leaving the Pacific Crest Trail. After all, I originally left Tennessee for an adventure. Who am I to complain if said adventure takes me to even more new places and people than I originally planned? We didn’t run out of gas. We didn’t lose our happy. We are always where we are supposed to be.

Aug

2021

A Day in the Life

*whoooooooooosh* Waking up is a much faster process out here, I think, as my inflatable air mat divulges it’s life force and leaves me lying flat on the cold ground. Were those bumps there all night? I use a buff to wipe the crap out of my eyes, because my hands are way too disgusting to come anywhere near my face. Even at 5:02 AM, lying in my Tarptent and waiting for my eyes and contacts to get with the program, I am lucid enough to not put my gross ass fingers in my eyeballs. Huh, Something to be grateful for today already. And so begins another day. I check to make sure the foot box of my quilt is still dry, it is, meaning I have won the nightly battle against condensation yet again. It’s warm to the touch from my body heat as I unceremoniously roll and stuff it into the zippered dyneema packing cube it lives in. My brain starts firing on different cylinders, and the routine of rolling up my thermarest mattress is accompanied to a high volume rendition of Waving Through a Window from the Dear Evan Hansen soundtrack in my brain. “On the outside always looking in will I ever be more than I’ve ever been as I’m tap tap tapping on the glass.” I hear the rustling of many plastic bags tucked inside other plastic bags holding various types of candy and instant drink mixes which means that Toes is already out of his tent. Shit. Looking around by the dual lights of my red headlamp and the full moon defused through the roof of my tent I double check to make sure everything is out of the tent and onto the tarp splayed onto the ground in my vestibule. I catch a wiff of the Desitin completely coating my feet beneath my socks left to soak overnight and contemplate whether I should coat them again. Desitin gets everywhere though. I glanced at my right heel where a recurring blister has taken up residence. A nemesis of mine. I get the Desitin out of the bag which is in another bag in another bag. It only takes a half a second now, even in the dark I know where absolutely everything is in my backpack at all times. I can mostly only see the white paste from the night before, but in my imagination I see necrotic flesh hanging around an abscess on my heel and Through the Wormhole into a world of infection where no one ever gets to thru hike. “Tap tap tapping on the glass, looking through the window” Ben Platt soothes my anxieties as I gluttonously slather my heel in desitin, cover it in leukotape, and pull my darn tough back up. I barely notice the white desitin covered fingerprints I leave on everything I touch. I am Desitin now. Finally ready to put on shoes, my eyes are fixated on the orb that is the moon as I unzip my tent to the fresh morning air and the sound of Toes farting. I take off the beanie I sleep in, and put on the rainbow buff singed around one end from a fire in the Shenandoahs in 2019. I am now officially in my hiking clothes. Which are also my pajamas. Which are my only clothes for the last 55 days. I grin at the big all over pop my hips and knees make climbing out of my tent. I hold my breath a bit as I slide on my trail runners. This is an important moment. What will be the pain threshold I start my day with today,? No pain. Excellent. The bridge is building in the back of my brain and I rip open a carnation breakfast essential in the downbeat before the final chorus of on the outside I was looking in will I ever be more than I’ve ever been. I decide that today is a day of three instant coffee packets and introduce the morning night to the sound of my smart water bottle crinkling and snapping as I filter cold lake water through my sawyer into jar of cookie batter I finished in less than 24 hours which I’m currently using to drink my morning breakfast essential coffee mix from. It has seemed to help control the mold issue if I use a separate jar for cold soaking breakfast food then I do for cold soaking my lunches and dinners. The opening lines of How Far I’ll Go begin to chime and I feel the energy of standing on the edge of the water never really knowing why as I down the breakfast gruel and the clock starts. Every day that I don’t shit myself on trail is a blessing. It’s as if my gut is now thoroughly accustomed to, and not all that impressed with, my new daily routine and insists on taking care of all of its business first thing in the morning. I begin the process of packing up my tent methodically wondering how far I’ll go today. Today, I am able to completely pack up my tent and start to throw clothes in around to finish packing my bag before it is time to stop everything and immediately go dig a hole for my morning ablutions. This is a good sign, things are going smoothly today. Toes and Cookie are chitchatting about the audiobook by Brandon Sanderson that we are all listening to. I’m in nerd heaven. The various noises of lighters clicking and water bottles crackling and food bags crinkling continue until our various things make their way to their house inside of our packs one by one. You would think we’ve done this a few times. Internally, thoughts and anxieties and lyrics and numbers and plans for the day continue to swell as we all ask each other various questions that we could readily answer ourselves but are seeking validation and support from each other. As I heave my bag on my shoulders I check that my water bottles are in the right places and the straps are tightened. Toes has his headlamp on bright walking in a circle making sure all the campsites are completely empty of thruhiker detritus. I spend my first few steps pulling my shorts, underwear, fanny pack, and belt straps in various directions until everything is in place, I look back to see Toes stepping onto the trail behind me with his cuppa coffee in one hand and a trekking pole in the other. “You ready to get a little closer to Mexico?” I ask. Let’s do it,” he says, and I turn my gaze southbound and take a deep breath and begin to walk. The crunch of my heels into the soft trail is loud in the still Mountain morning air but somehow still manages to drown out the various tentacles in my head vying for attention. The sun finally breaks free across the granite ridgeline on my left shoulder as the crunching pattern of my feet begin to find a rhythmic pace in tandem with my breath. the chill air is invigorating and I pump my arms and legs, filling my body with life energy and gratitude as the sun lights up the sky. Another day of being exactly where I’m supposed to be. Just another day on the PCT.

Aug

2021

Oregon!

A few weeks before leaving to start our thru hikes of the Pacific Crest Trail, I was invited to go spelunking with Squeegie at this phenomenal place called Worleys cave in East Tennessee. Her cousins know the cave incredibly well, and at one point showed us a crack in the wall through which you could see a large chamber on the other side. They had been trying for years to get into that chamber, but never found a way. Someone joked that the lizard people could live on the other side of that and we could be the first folks to make contact. What would you say to them? I looked at Squeegie, looked through the crack, and stage whispered “I thru hiked the Appalachian Trail.” At my last job as a bartender, every time the owner and I were in the building together he found a way to tell every customer that I thru hiked the Appalachian Trail. The man has never been hiking a day in his life, he just wanted to share in the glory. It is pretty cool after all. My mom has friends at work who want more details about my current hike than she can give because I can not post pictures fast enough. My Nana has read so many trail related books she can sit down and speak hiker with the best of us, talking about NOBOs and SoBOs and slack packing and re-supply. So many people saw how bad my shoes were and pitched in to buy me new ones. Friends from all over reconnect to systematically destroy our feet together one more time. (One more? Who am I kidding?) My point being here that I thru hiked the Appalachian Trail, and I like to talk about it. It was the most fun, transformative, and positive experience of my entire life. Now, I’m a little over 900 miles into my second thru hike and guess what, I damn well like to talk about it too. The crazy part is not how excited I am though, but how everyone around me shares in this undertaking whether they’re hiking or not. Everyone in their own individual way that becomes connected to one of these long trails gets to share in the glory. Folks will talk about a 30 mile drive being far away and I laugh and say oh that’s nothing I could walk that. And everybody laughs, I get a little boost of pride, and then I inevitably bring it up again later that day. After making so many comments like this around certain people, whether they are in jest or no, it starts to take a toll. Folks around me will start tagging disclaimers at the end of their hiking stories. Oh, I know it’s nothing like what you do but….. There is a line somewhere between glory and ego, and it is incredibly thin. There is a ton of ego and ambition tied up in my backpacking experience. I often find myself musing on the differences between hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, hiking on the Pacific Crest Trail, hiking, and thru hiking. They all seem very similar but they are not. In my quest to earn my triple crown, I am a thru hiker who is hiking the Pacific Crest National Scenic Trail. I want it to be recognized by the Pacific Crest Trail Association and eventually the American long-distance hiking Association, along with the recognition I have already achieved for the Appalachian Trail, and recognition for the continental divide trail that I hope lies in my future. Along that line, there is a sense of working towards a specific goal I will later consider to be an achievement. However, I teeter between working towards this and trying to not let this hike feel like a job. Of course, sometimes you just have to wake up, put your dirty feet into your dirty socks into your dirty shoes, and trudge through the woods for umpteen miles with a few crazy blisters and a hurt shoulder. That feels like work. But not to the point that I would rather actually be at home at work. Today, I will arrive in Ashland and take the rest of the day to relax. I have to make some big decisions, because unfortunately I can no longer hike the entire Pacific Crest Trail this year due to the ongoing wildfires. Washington and Oregon have been breathtakingly beautiful and I feel so grateful. Now, as we look south at Northern California there is an evolving situation that we have absolutely no control over. There appear to be several options of what we could do from here to piece together a few sections between the fires. However, the logistics involved with that, including cost, make it a poor choice. Especially considering the increasing levels of smoke on the trail. At this point, my friends and I are leaning towards making our way down to somewhere around Lake Tahoe. The Sierra’s. The crown jewel of the PCT, and arguably the entire triple crown. On a traditional Sobo PCT thru hike it is practically a race to get to the Sierras before the first winter storm. Now, since the majority of Northern California is unhikeable, we get to jump straight there. There are many highlights to this, specifically the fact that the sense of urgency following us since Canada Is now gone completely. It is going to be warmer than it will be a month from now when we most likely would’ve been entering them, sans fires. I am so excited to swim in as many lakes as possible. Please don’t mistake me, I would have much preferred to walk an unbroken path from Canada to Mexico this year, but this brings me back to my original point. Where do I separate my sense of accomplishment from my ego? Having to skip Northern California is definitely a setback to both. The last week or so we have ran smack in to the NoBo bubble, except worse. The fire bubble. We pass hundreds per day. Pretty much every northbound hiker within 400 miles skipped up to the same place at the same time and started walking towards us. It is entirely evident that I am not the only one processing emotions on skipping because of fire. It is so easy when discussing these fires and sharing our experiences to make our decisions seem more valid. We are craving justification. It almost feels like everyone is terrified that another hiker is going to get to hike a section that they had to skip because of fire. As if this was something competitive. The difference in perspective between north bounders and south bounders combined with the high tension and crowded trails have sent me down a negative spiral more than once now. It is funny how now, I have hiked through this and pushed the miles and felt the feelings, and now just a couple miles from town those problems start to fade away. I leave those problems in the past, and resolve to learn from them going towards the future, to better stay grounded in right now. Now that everything has changed, it is a chance to set a new goals and re-examine my priorities. I strive to discover how to best walk this line in order to strip away my hurtful ego. So for now, I’ll just keep heading south. Toodles, y’all. PS. Here is a link to all my photos and videos! https://photos.app.goo.gl/sVVGXWHxAFahWm7C6 If you enjoy them and want to buy me a meal or contribute to the new sock fund, my Venmo is @LoganRoark

Jul

2021

Priorities

What are mine? This is something I struggle with daily on the trail. The basics are so simple: wake up, pack your bag, and walk. It could not be any more straightforward. In a perfect world, this is all that it would be. However, this is not the case. Wildfire season is already going strong on the west coast. I knew this could potentially be a problem for us at any point, but I did not expect it so soon. Unfortunately, fire closures are already upon us. We were forced to have to make a decision at Timmerline Lodge to skip a 91 mile section of Oregon. We were graciously taken into the home of Halo, another thru hiker, in Sisters, OR. We slept in actual beds, took showers, ate crappy fast food, played fetch with Halo’s dog, pet her chickens, drank a free beer at the gear shop, and are now headed back to the trail. I have to come to terms with some things. I have to understand my priorities. I am here to backpack as much of the Pacific Crest Trail as possible. I am here to see new things. I am here for the challenge and the adventure. I am just here. These new challenges are just that, and we will see them through. Toodles, y’all.

Jul

2021

Gratitude

Today, I am sitting in Portland in a cushy Marriot waiting for the bleach on my scalp to do its job so I can go purple again. I asked the front desk people if they had any old towels that I could ruin, and she said “Oh that’s so fun! Just go for it and I’ll have extra towels sent to your room.” Feels like destiny to me. Yesterday, I walked across the Columbia river on the Bridge of the Gods with Toes and Squeegie. While hiking, I listen to the song “Heading South” by Zach Bryan multiple times a day. It is not a very well known song, but it speaks to me in a way I can not describe. As we walked across that bridge, I was feeling very emotional and powerful and the whole gauntlet of feelings, and then a truck drove by us and guess what song was playing? I couldn’t stop myself from staring at her for a second and she asked if I was okay and I told her I was heading south on the PCT. She said “Wow, that feels like destiny.” Destiny is a big word. It has so many connotations. In the last month, I have walked 536ish miles across the state of Washington, constantly in awe of the majesty. Even as my shoes disentegrated off of my feet while making my way south, causing blisters and pain and anxiety, I would jerk myself back to the present moment and look around me. I am exactly where I am supposed to be. When I could not even stop to pee because the mosquitos were so thick in the air, and the world seemed like it was all buzz and bite and blood, I was exactly where I was supposed to be. When I threw myself into (literal) ice cold glacial melt waters and resurfaced to the 105° sun beating down on me, nestled perfectly in a little bowl of mountains covered in snow, I was exactly where I was supposed to be. I sat outside a random cabin in the woods maintained by a snowmobile club, drinking a cold Rainier left as trail magic and talking to my friend Moose about how great it is to have that realization. It is a powerful feeling to be grounded in the present moment. It is so very easy on the trail to lose yourself in thoughts of the past or the future. Anxiety, fear, loneliness, worry, guilt, pain, and anything else you can imagine can bear down on you with each step. It can become a pressing, dominant, overbearing power that takes over everything else. Little things in the back of my mind rear their ugly heads and demand attention. My feet pound the earth as I make my way south and the ghosts of my past resurface each day. Yet, somehow, I am able to turn that off. I ruminate on these negative thoughts, then as soon as I realize what I am doing I just stop, look around, and find gratitude. Why worry about yesteryears, when I have such a perfect life right now. Why worry about tomorrow? As long as I am always doing the best I can right now, then the future will take care of itself. Maybe I have always been exactly where I was supposed to be, but I was not grateful enough to realize it. I am grateful for the time I have to realize things like this. I believe that this trail, and the folks who are on it and care about it, have irrevocably changed the collective consciousness of the world. So many people feel similarly to the way I do for it to be otherwise. These long trails are beacons to me and the folks who get it, in an otherwise confusing world. We go back to the basics on these adventures. Food, water, shelter, and community are the only things we need. Damn, y’all. I love my life. The trail itself is mostly a pine needle highway lately, which is conducive to large mile days. 30 miles a day is the new 20. It is hard to wrap my head around it, but staying on pace means hiking about 170 miles a week. I know all of these numbers can become overwhelming to me, so I try not to focus too much on that. Thankfully, it has just worked out. It feels good to be hiking back to back to back days, each longer than a marathon. My body is hurting, but that just means I am getting stronger. “Wildfire” is the word on the tip of everyone’s tongue. There is absolutely nothing I can do about fire, so I guess I will just keep hiking until someone tells me it’s too dangerous. Who knows what the next couple of weeks will bring to that situation. For now, I’m going to keep thriving and hiking. More pictures and content can be found on my Instagram @toodleicious. Also, I have a Google photos album where I am posting unedited pictures and videos as I go. That link is https://photos.app.goo.gl/sVVGXWHxAFahWm7C6 If you love them, or me, and want to be an A+ friend and trail angel, my Venmo is @LoganRoark. A few bucks for a cold drink in town goes a long way! Well, I think my hair is officially purple now and I have to go find a scooter to ride around all day and see the crazy folks of Portland. Toodles, y’all.

Jul

2021

Day 26

Today is Thursday, July 22, almost 8 AM, 15 miles to Troutlake, Washington. I am a little over 400 miles south of the Canadian border, which means just a little over one Appalachian Trail left between me and Mexico. That’s a lot. The trail has changed completely since Snoqualmie pass last week. Toes, Squeegie, Moose, and myself split a room there, and were four of close to twenty southbounders! This community is perfect, for me. We traded in the snow, blowdowns, and avalanche fields, for bugs, bugs, and more bugs. The trail is way easier to hike, and as long as you keep moving the mosquitoes are not too bad. Due to this, and the fire situation in Oregon and NorCal, and as always the knowledge that Winter is Coming to the Sierra’s, our daily mileage has changed drastically. We have been hiking closer to 25 miles a day lately, and all things considered I am feeling really good. A typical day on the PCT starts around 4:45-5:00 when nature begins to call. I rummage around in my food bag and delay getting out of my tent until the situation is dire, then pack up my tent and start hiking. Lately, I have been boots on trail by 6 am. This is a miracle for me, but it happens naturally out here (as long as it isn’t freezing). I hike, eat, hike, filter water, take a pee break, switch layers, eat, hike, hike, hike, eat, hike, eat. This pattern continues until usually around 7 pm, but not even close to always. This depends on factors like how long it took me to get there, what time of day it actually is, how good the tent sites are, how close I am to town, and last and probably greatest my mood. Some days I wake up and I just want to hike 25 or 26 miles and push my body. Other days, I want to lay in my tent until 630, Start hiking at eight to only do 15 miles and stop at a super cool campsite. Fortunately, for the most part I have found a happy medium between the smiles in the miles. I think a huge part of that for me is realizing that the smiles are mostly coming from the people that I do the miles with. Knowing Toes is just a couple minutes behind or ahead to commiserate whenever I’m feeling low or celebrate when I’m feeling high often times makes all the difference. Going through the goat rocks wilderness may be my favorite part of the nature aspect of the trail so far. We hiked at the highest elevation we have yet, parting the masts that sometimes cried a vision of the magnificent views in every direction. We camped over 7000 feet, and as soon as I open my tent a little after five in the morning I can’t help but to look out at the sunrise and shout holy shit first thing in the morning. It was hard to leave that campsite despite the cold. For this section, every time I turn around I’m looking at either Mount Rainier, Mount Adams, or Mount Saint Helens. Truly, I hike in the presence of Giants. Despite their magnificence, I sometimes am still constantly surprised when I turn a corner of the trail and there she looms. Today should be my last town stop in Washington. We are hoping for a quick in and out of town. We are manifesting a corner booth in a local diner with outlets to charge our electronics, all day breakfast menu so that we can have both breakfast and lunch while we sit there waiting for full batteries and Internet chores completed. My Solomons (shoes) have been practically destroyed in less time than it took for the toenail polish to fade from the pedicure I got right before leaving Tennessee. On the Appalachian Trail I could get about 700 miles from the shoes, and they just feel all around different this year, I am not sure what it is, but it is disappointing. You hear stories from tons of folks about having to switch shoes numerous time until they find something that works for them while walking up same distances caring backpacks, but luckily for me my first year I tried was the perfect Cinderella fit. I hope I do not have to start researching process over again. Hopefully I can find either A new pair of shoes to at least get me to Oregon in a week, or enough time, patience, and ingenuity to duck tape all the holes in my current pair efficiently enough to last 100 and something miles. We shall see. Until next time, Toodles

Jul

2021

Harts Pass-Stevens Pass

Some things feel just like old times on the AT. Most things feel completely new. I can not think of many more groups of people in my life that can create space in their lives to reconnect for a two week backpacking trip, but we sure as hell did it, even if it got a little wonky. When we were thruhiking in 2019, we ended up calling ourselves the “Ain’t No Might” crew, for reasons I will have to share another day. It is absolutely beautiful to be reunited with them all. Toes, I have been hiking with since the beginning of course. That feels the same, but still different. We still cut up and crack jokes and act half our age constantly, but it feels to me that we are both a bit more focused/invested in this hike. Maybe there are better words or ways to say it. If so, I will think of it. Pale Ale, Mange, and Wizard all hopped on trail with us at Harts Pass. I got to see Pale Ale in city girl vibe, but seeing them all in their hiking outfits did something to me. Mange giggles just as much. Wizard is constantly full of surprises. Pale Ale can still get me laughing harder than anyone when she gets in her moods. But there is change. It has been a long year for everyone, but I think my friends Mange and Wizard have had an especially rough one. Conversations with Wiz about sweet baby Mabel while numbing our feet in the freezing river after a long day are new, and while those talks can feel as icy as the river, it is so damn good to be out here with them and I hope for nothing but peace for them both. I love you Mange and Wizard. Being the last one out of camp and spending most of my morning playing catch up was simply how I moved through life every day on the AT. We camped at Cutthroat Pass a couple of nights from Stehekin and it was literally both the highest elevation and most beautiful campsite I have ever slept at. Hiking to catch them in the dawn air vibrating with the sound of mosquitoes, I put my music in and played an old playlist while practically running down the trail. I became overwhelmed. I have put so much work, and made so many sacrifices, and I am actually out here. Such a rewarding feeling. Moose, Twirl, Pancake, Craig, Wallflower, Danceparty, Second, Spud, Bunkhouse, B-Shwack, Juicy, Crunch, Mistake, and Relay are just some of the folks who are also on the trail, and it has been great getting to know new friends. I have been entertaining myself by putting everyone into “classes” of fantasy characters. Or DND archetypes kinda thing. I have struggled with technology. Guthooks, the primary map used by myself and most thru hikers, has not worked well pretty much since the beginning. To be fair, I have not been anywhere with good enough internet to try to do much. Toes has struggle with gear but altogether doing well despite it. We are learning. This is not like the AT in many ways, but one that has become glaringly apparent is the lack of shelters. Not just the shelters as in the structure themselves, but also just how they are so useful. This is where we would naturally reconvene after getting split up. Shelters are great for breaks. But most importantly, I miss the shelter logs. It is nice to see who is ahead of you and what has been going on with the trail. Likewise, they are useful for leaving messages for the folks behind you. I have resorted to writing time stamps in the dirt, or on a leaf stuck somewhere hopefully obvious. Additionally, most days getting to the shelter was the final goal of the day that I could set my mind to when I am wearing down. The PCT is was less forgiving. You never know where exactly you are going to be able to camp. A large chunk of the aready established camp sites are under snow. Or blocked by fallen trees after a couple of years of no trail maintenance. Yesterday, we hyped ourselves up to do what we thought was going to be one more mile. Then the campsite and the area all around it was destroyed by a fairly new landslide. So, we kept heading south. That’s the only thing to do. The trail itself is spectacular. Between the wildflowers, the snow, and the sharp peaks of mountains rising in the distance I am completely enraptured. I have learned so much about hiking across snow. My asana practice came in handy when navigating blow downs and avalanche debris. My legs are all cut up, everything itches, and I already cannot smell myself which is a bad sign for everyone else. But, I’m thriving. Yesterday we hiked 26 miles so that we would have a short 3 miles to the road crossing at Stevens Pass, and hopped in the back of a truck almost immediately. This community is amazing. I love it. I am loving every minute of it. I feel so much stronger in many different ways than I did at the beginning of the AT. Physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually stronger. This trail is mind blowing. I keep using the word “exponential.” From one ridge line to the next, the mountains rise in jagged peaks that fade into the distance. Today, Mount Rainier loomed mighty behind them all. Tomorrow will be two full weeks of hiking. I’m excited for the weeks to come, and want to savor every single one.

Jun

2021

Dash to Canada and back

Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. I was reminded of this poem by Robert Frost time and time again in the last few days. When we were dropped off at Harts Pass by a good friend of mine to start our 30 miles north to tag the Canadian border, it was over 100°, which was very strange to me considering I was waking across snow. Toes, Squeegie, and myself were entranced by the scenery from the very beginning. As we climbed a ridge line covered in snow, we would reach the top and look down at a totally different world on the opposite slope which had already melted, showing the high desert that we were trekking across. Mile for mile, it was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Most folks were turned around by a ranger and sent on an alternate route, but we arrived just in time to hike the PCT itself north. We were armed with micro spikes and sheer determination as we taught ourselves to kick steps in the rapidly melting snow. It was scary at times, but exhilarating always. I learned that I was able to do things that I have never even considered before. If nothing else, this trail has already done wonders for my confidence. Day 2, a record breaking heat wave pounding down on the Pacific Northwest, saw us determined to make it to Canada. We knew that Rock Pass was our steepest and likely most challenging obstacle between us and the border, so we set ourselves up to tackle it first thing in the morning. There were a couple of scary falls; snow that was previously solid simply caves through and your foot goes with it. There is very little to be done at that point without mountaineering gear which we did not have. Toes and I both slid a ways down Rock Pass, but came out mostly unscathed. Between the patches of snow, the trail was very cruisy. Switchbacks up to the ridge line, then back down, brought us to Hopkins Lake and the clearest water I have ever seen. It was beautiful, and incredibly cold. That polar plunge was such a mind game, but the heat of the day had me realizing quickly that it was a good decision. As we came nearer to the Canadian border we started to pass several other SOBOs who were coming back from their own border tag. It was really cool getting to see all of the hikers who will be just a couple of days in front of or behind me. I have seen pictures and videos of that monument in the mountains for so long. There is a vast line of torn down trees to mark the physical line that separates Canada and America. The monument that sits there on the PCT is a beacon to thru hikers far and wide, and I will not even attempt to describe my feelings upon seeing it. We had our obligatory photo shoot, shared some champagne, and raced sunset back to the campsite for a total of 18.6 miles on Day 2. The audacity is unreal. Hiking south back to Harts Pass was like a completely different trail. The snow is said to be melting at a foot and a half per day, and based on my experience I believe that to be true. Passes that were covered in white became unrecognizable alpine meadows with beautiful wildflowers popping out everywhere. This is absolutely beautiful country. The heatwave is wearing us out, but little to do about it. We finished our jaunt to Canada a day early and hitched a ride back down the sketchy mining road to Mazama for some very necessary gear swaps and four of us shared a bunkhouse at North Cascades Mountain Hostel. AC is lyfe. Today is July 1st and we are waiting in cute little Winthrop, WA for Pale Ale, Mange, and Wizard to scoop us up so we can all head back to the trail together. Heading south to Stehekin! The weather is much milder, by which I mean only about 95°. We are grateful. I am grateful. For so many things. This trail has already taught me so much, and I’ve already met so many people and we all have the next 2,623 miles to get to know each other. I can not wait. Toodles, y’all.

Jun

2021

Gone Hiking

Goodbyes are hard, even when it is really just “see ya later.” This week I have done all of my favorite things in Tennessee for the “last time,” and while it may not be the last time ever, I will undoubtedly never look at things the same way after this journey, so in a way it is. From cramming in time to visit friends, going on last minute adventures, moving out of my apartment, selling pretty much all of my belongings, and prepping for what is soon to come, I have barely had time to consider exactly what the hell I am getting myself into. To be honest, I am not sure that I want to delve too deeply into those feelings. Tonight, my family threw me a little going away/birthday party at one of my absolute favorite places on Watauga Lake. As we waited on sunset and for the burgers to cook, Nana asked Toes and I what we hoped was going to happen and at least to me, the answers felt forced. There was a thick silence in the air of a question unanswered. But I think that I have a better answer now. The things that I am hoping for are endless, though this journey is not about what I hope to happen, but about accepting and finding gratitude in what does. It is about shooting every shot that feels right, and knowing when to say no. The things I am hoping for are endless. I am hoping for more love. I am hoping for more inner peace. I am hoping to be better equipped to move through this world with confidence and purpose, in the most humble way. I am hoping for so, so, so much, but most of all that I do not take one second for granted and that I walk away applying the things that I learn in a positive way. For most endeavors, one might say that I am hoping for too much. But for those who know, when it comes to these trails this is only a fraction of what I could be given if I show it, and my body, the respect they deserve. A hostel owner in NC once said that “your hike tends to reflect who you are,” and I believe that to be true for me. I have grown in so many ways since the AT, because of the AT and the folks that I met along the way, and I’m anxious to see how that reflects on this audacious walk to Mexico. I suppose time will tell, for I have many miles to go. However, the beautiful part about saying goodbye to my family and my home town is saying hello to old friends and new opportunities. I love the Appalachian mountains, and I love climbing one to look off into the distance at another. I can see from one beautiful spot to the next, and know the name of the space in between. I know where all of the best campsites are, and the easiest spots to find water. There are places that I love to share, and places that I go which feel like mine alone. While this has its own beauty, and a very special place in my life, I relish the prospect of looking at new mountains. That exhilarating yet peaceful feeling of looking out at a great big world and knowing that there is more yet to see. Friendships that were formed on the AT with folks from very different walks of life have become just like family, and in my mind I can not think of many things more rewarding than reuniting with these folks on the PCT. It is not often that so many people from such different places can carve out time and resources for each other, but I am so grateful that I made friends who are as eager to make this happen as I am. Ain’t no might. Only do. Equally so, I can not wait for all of the new friends that I know I will meet on this path, even if some are just momentary connections between two strangers who happen to be in the same place at the same time, enjoying what is before them. I am excited about all of the various things that these new friends love, and eager for the lessons that they can teach me. I am hopeful that I can be useful to someone else, as often as possible. I am already thankful for whoever it might be that says out loud the whispers in my head that I am too afraid to voice. I hope I can help someone laugh when they would rather cry. I hope I can be there when someone really needs to cry, just in case they want to vent. I hope for human connection in epic proportions to match the epic undertaking we are sharing together. This will be the last busy day. One short drive and a couple of planes later until I get to hug Pale Ale in a city we have been talking about me visiting for two years, and finally get to meet her dog. One more day of simple last minute preparations, and sightseeing with friends. Then, the first day of my walk from Canada to Mexico. The first day of the rest of my life.

About This Hike

toodles-hikes

Pacific Crest Trail

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