Left the campground to hit the trail at 6:30 am, and was feeling really good about being at the front of the pack. Headed to where I remembered coming into the campground, near some bathrooms. When I got there it didn't seem right, but I saw some more bathrooms in the distance so I began walking toward those. Soon I realized that this campground had many bathrooms...many similar looking bathrooms. It also occurred to me as I continued to wander that this campground was a hell of a lot bigger than I'd realized. Feeling more and more lost by the second, I desperately hoped that none of the other hikers that I'd just cheerily said goodbye to would see that I couldn't even find my way out of the campground. I'd already specifically turned down the idea to walk to the visitor's center down the road to get water and then picking the trail up near there. I had actually specifically chosen to retrace my steps through the campground and pick up right where I'd left off so that I wouldn't get lost. The irony of this decision was now weighing heavily on my soul.
Finally I came to the exit of the campground, near where I began. Defeated, I quickly walked to the road, still trying to escape the sight of the other hikers. I walked to the visitor's center and not too long after, with the help of Half Mile's GPS, found my way to the trail. I had wasted an hour. About five minutes later, Katie and Rachel walked up behind me and I admitted to my stupidity. Katie attributed it to the fact that it was early and so my mind was still waking up. I avoided any discussion of how I'm just bad with directions. Or knowing where I am. Or where I've been. Because those things can cause people to question whether you should be hiking 2,650 miles by yourself.
Mercifully, the day got much better from there. Gorgeous, dramatic views of high mountain ranges juxtaposed against low valleys. The spectrum of colors of flowers in the desert is stunning as well. Burnt orange, deep red, bright yellow, dark purple, light purple, baby blue, dusty pink.The weather was pleasant too. Comfortably warm with a light breeze.
I did seventeen miles, mostly by myself, and camped at Sunrise Trail camp where I saw a bunch of hikers congregated in different areas. I wandered over to a big group sitting in a circle to see if I knew anyone. I didn't, but they were very welcoming and invited me to sit down. Kara and Allie had met on a PCT Facebook group and decided to hike "solo together". Honeybear and Shasquatch were an aunt and nephew pair. There was a German couple who appeared to be in their thirties and were very excited to have gotten away from Berlin. The woman said it was too big and stinky and dirty. Lastly there was Peter, a man who worked for the New York City transit authority for thirty years and retired early to follow his dream of hiking the PCT.
Everyone went to their tents as the sun went down, and I went off to a nice area obscured by bushes to cowboy camp.
Friday, April 17, 2015
Miles 32-42 (to Mt. Laguna)
Around mile thirty-seven, after doing a slow five morning miles, I came across a thru-hiker named Daydreamer who was in a super sweet, shady, spacious spot--too nice to pass up. It was around 11:30 am and his tent was set up under a huge, beautiful tree. I asked him if he minded me taking a break with him, and he said he'd be honored (no, really). We exchanged the typical first-meet questions about where the other was from and what day we got on trail. He looked to be about my age and in good shape but said that he'd strained a ligament and was having to take some zeros. He'd been in that nice spot for almost a full day. He told me that he typically liked to hike barefoot which I responded to with disbelief. Apparently he'd been doing it for years, and swore that his injury was unrelated.
My planned short break turned into about an hour and a half as other hikers came and went. All day I planned on making it past Mt. Laguna ("That's only ten miles. I have to go further than that."), but when I got to the campground near town that had been open last year, allowing me to use an actual bathroom and charge my phone, it was closed. So I went into town, which ended up being a lot closer than I remembered. Or at least the Pine House Cafe was, and of course that's where I went.
I made the mistake of looking at the menu. Never look at the menu. Burgers. And garlic parmesean fries. And super-gourmet-sounding mac and cheese (gourmet enough to charge $9 for a half order and $12 for a full.) So naturally I ordered all of that. The fries were shared with two other hikers, so that made the bill a bit less. The fries had to be ordered separately from the burger. It was that kind of place. They bank on taking hikers for all they're worth. Later I realized they had one of my favorites wines. But James, another hiker who came and joined our meal halfway through, strongly recommended the double IPA. He said I should order the wine and he'd get the beer, and if I preferred the beer we could switch. The IPA ended up winning. James bought the beer, and somehow the wine didn't show up on the tab. I didn't protest this.
We all went back to the campground later and I put up my tent for the first time by myself. I'd been avoiding doing that since I hadn't practiced and didn't want to look like an idiot around other hikers. It involves tying strings to shrubs and/or trees. That alone makes it too complicated for my limited skill, but I gave it my best effort. I thought I'd done a pretty decent job, but by morning the two back stakes had popped out and my ceiling was considerably lower. And the inside was covered in condensation that would roll off and fall on my head if I chose to rise above ground-level. I crawled out of the tent in the dark of early morning, stealthy and unseen. Or so I told myself.
My planned short break turned into about an hour and a half as other hikers came and went. All day I planned on making it past Mt. Laguna ("That's only ten miles. I have to go further than that."), but when I got to the campground near town that had been open last year, allowing me to use an actual bathroom and charge my phone, it was closed. So I went into town, which ended up being a lot closer than I remembered. Or at least the Pine House Cafe was, and of course that's where I went.
I made the mistake of looking at the menu. Never look at the menu. Burgers. And garlic parmesean fries. And super-gourmet-sounding mac and cheese (gourmet enough to charge $9 for a half order and $12 for a full.) So naturally I ordered all of that. The fries were shared with two other hikers, so that made the bill a bit less. The fries had to be ordered separately from the burger. It was that kind of place. They bank on taking hikers for all they're worth. Later I realized they had one of my favorites wines. But James, another hiker who came and joined our meal halfway through, strongly recommended the double IPA. He said I should order the wine and he'd get the beer, and if I preferred the beer we could switch. The IPA ended up winning. James bought the beer, and somehow the wine didn't show up on the tab. I didn't protest this.
We all went back to the campground later and I put up my tent for the first time by myself. I'd been avoiding doing that since I hadn't practiced and didn't want to look like an idiot around other hikers. It involves tying strings to shrubs and/or trees. That alone makes it too complicated for my limited skill, but I gave it my best effort. I thought I'd done a pretty decent job, but by morning the two back stakes had popped out and my ceiling was considerably lower. And the inside was covered in condensation that would roll off and fall on my head if I chose to rise above ground-level. I crawled out of the tent in the dark of early morning, stealthy and unseen. Or so I told myself.
Miles 20-32
So fortunately, the days following my first-full-day semi-breakdown have not been full of woe and plotting just when and how I'd get off the trail.
On day two, after hiking six miles to Boulder Oaks campground, I met up with two other technically-solo female thru-hikers who were hiking together. Names Rachel and Katie. I'd gotten pretty good initial vibes from both of them. Rachel is from Portland, and Katie from San Francisco and now living in Portland (though they hadn't met before the trail). They invited me to hike with them and I did. Rachel went ahead after a little while as Katie and I hung back to take pictures at "Pride Rock"--so named because I climbed it like a lion (aka walked up it on all-fours) as Katherine sang the Lion King theme song last year.
Katie and I night-hiked for about an hour that night to make it to what was promised by Guthook (a PCT guide resource) to be an awesome campsite. Night hiking is not my favorite (I hate it) and I typically avoid it at all costs, but Katie is really good company and has a genuinely positive attitude that doesn't grate on your nerves, so I decided I'd keep going. We talked about people and relationships and "the world." During our conversation, Katie said something along the lines of, "The thing is that the world is a scary place and there are bad people who do bad things. That's the fact. So knowing that, you have to ask yourself how you're going to go through this world. To go along with the darkness and negativity makes no sense to me. Why would I want to contribute to those things? That's nonsense." She expressed that one of her main goals on the trail was to bring a smile to people. It didn't hurt that she fed me Nilla Wafers that tasted like heaven at well-timed intervals.
We got to the campsite (which was awesome) around 8:30 pm and made and ate our top ramen and cup-o-noodles in silence as about six other hikers were already asleep in their tents.
On day two, after hiking six miles to Boulder Oaks campground, I met up with two other technically-solo female thru-hikers who were hiking together. Names Rachel and Katie. I'd gotten pretty good initial vibes from both of them. Rachel is from Portland, and Katie from San Francisco and now living in Portland (though they hadn't met before the trail). They invited me to hike with them and I did. Rachel went ahead after a little while as Katie and I hung back to take pictures at "Pride Rock"--so named because I climbed it like a lion (aka walked up it on all-fours) as Katherine sang the Lion King theme song last year.
Katie and I night-hiked for about an hour that night to make it to what was promised by Guthook (a PCT guide resource) to be an awesome campsite. Night hiking is not my favorite (I hate it) and I typically avoid it at all costs, but Katie is really good company and has a genuinely positive attitude that doesn't grate on your nerves, so I decided I'd keep going. We talked about people and relationships and "the world." During our conversation, Katie said something along the lines of, "The thing is that the world is a scary place and there are bad people who do bad things. That's the fact. So knowing that, you have to ask yourself how you're going to go through this world. To go along with the darkness and negativity makes no sense to me. Why would I want to contribute to those things? That's nonsense." She expressed that one of her main goals on the trail was to bring a smile to people. It didn't hurt that she fed me Nilla Wafers that tasted like heaven at well-timed intervals.
We got to the campsite (which was awesome) around 8:30 pm and made and ate our top ramen and cup-o-noodles in silence as about six other hikers were already asleep in their tents.
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
The First Day
I finally got on the trail on Wednesday, 4/9, around 6:30 in the evening. I hiked two miles in and then camped because it was starting to get dark and I wanted to get up early the next morning. On Thursday, my first full day, I managed to do eighteen miles into Lake Morena. The weather was beautiful for hiking and I was enjoying myself...until the last five miles or so. The trail is very smooth until those last miles when you hit a big hill. After weeks of hiking it wouldn't have been a problem, but on the first day (and at the end of the day) going a mile uphill in the hot sun is a bit exhausting. My morale dropped considerably before I even realized it was happening. After getting up the hill I was somehow feeling at my worst emotionally and mentally. "Why did I decide to do this again? I'm going to do 700 miles of desert AGAIN. ALONE. And for what? So I can say I thru-hiked? Who cares? It's just walking a long way! This is what I need to do to feel independent? This is ridiculous. I'm going to be out here for four months. All alone. Slogging through the miles. Day after day. How am I going to do this when I already feel this lonely and depressed?"
When I got to Lake Morena I immediately called my mom and told her how shitty I was feeling. Lamenting that I'd chosen to hike mile after mile all summer rather than having a relaxing time with friends and family going swimming and just enjoying my time. I had been so excited to get back on the trail and now that I was there, I couldn't understand what had compelled me to return.
Of course my mom was understanding and encouraging, but when I hung up with her I still didn't know what the hell I was going to do. I'd been picturing how I was going to tell people that I'd quit the trail at mile twenty.
I walked to the bathroom at the campground and saw a sign telling me to go to site 64 to camp with the other hikers if the camp office was closed, which it was. On my way to the site, I ran into a girl that I'd met at the beginning of the day who was hiking with her mom. She told me they'd gone out to dinner and had three pieces of pizza left if I wanted them. Of course I was elated. I actually cried a little while taking it from her, so that made me feel pretty dramatic and ridiculous, but she understood. My first bit of trail magic, when I needed it most.
I took the pizza to the site where a bunch of other hikers had already set up their tents. I sat on the grass and savored the deliciousness, feeling like everything might be okay. Then some hikers came and struck up a conversation with me, and I remembered the sense of camaraderie on the trail that makes a long, tiring day fade away.
And it always helps to fall asleep gazing at a sky bright with stars.
When I got to Lake Morena I immediately called my mom and told her how shitty I was feeling. Lamenting that I'd chosen to hike mile after mile all summer rather than having a relaxing time with friends and family going swimming and just enjoying my time. I had been so excited to get back on the trail and now that I was there, I couldn't understand what had compelled me to return.
Of course my mom was understanding and encouraging, but when I hung up with her I still didn't know what the hell I was going to do. I'd been picturing how I was going to tell people that I'd quit the trail at mile twenty.
I walked to the bathroom at the campground and saw a sign telling me to go to site 64 to camp with the other hikers if the camp office was closed, which it was. On my way to the site, I ran into a girl that I'd met at the beginning of the day who was hiking with her mom. She told me they'd gone out to dinner and had three pieces of pizza left if I wanted them. Of course I was elated. I actually cried a little while taking it from her, so that made me feel pretty dramatic and ridiculous, but she understood. My first bit of trail magic, when I needed it most.
I took the pizza to the site where a bunch of other hikers had already set up their tents. I sat on the grass and savored the deliciousness, feeling like everything might be okay. Then some hikers came and struck up a conversation with me, and I remembered the sense of camaraderie on the trail that makes a long, tiring day fade away.
And it always helps to fall asleep gazing at a sky bright with stars.
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
"The hiking was steep and strenuous, but the living was easy." -Dan White (author of The Cactus Eaters) on the PCTI'm hitting the old, dusty trail a day later than planned. It took me longer than anticipated to get my place all cleaned out, my gear all together, and my goodbyes all said before I left. I'm in central California currently and am leaving this morning to drive down to Campo (the Southern Terminus of the PCT). I had a huge meal at Olive Garden last night and I'm feeling super gross--like I've consumed all the carbs and fats my body can possibly handle--so I'm officially ready for a long hike.
We manged to leave Siskiyou county less than twenty-four hours before snow hit. What are the chances? The only real snow that fell "this season" (though the season has really passed) and I wasn't even there to see it. And soon I'll be living day after day in the hot, dry desert. I'm using a track phone for communication now, so I don't have a data package. Thus I'll only be able to update this blog when in towns where Wi-Fi is available. Hopefully by the next time I post on here I'll have logged 100 miles or more.
Here I go...
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