NorCal: Part 1

High-ho, high-ho, it’s up the hill we go. My southbound mission to finish the stubborn nooks and crannies of Northern California began with a nice hearty uphill through a wooded valley and along a gurgling stream. With tunes cranking, I suddenly found myself face to face with a hairy, fearless creature. I would’ve been scared, if not for the fact that I met this true northbounder the third day of my trip. Amazed at the fact that he made it through the Sierras unscathed, we swapped stories and wished each other luck on our migrations. The rest of the uphill was not without small joys however, as I ran into and reminisced with several more hikers from the early days of my trip. They had all made it through the Sierras and were grinning from ear to ear, despite a unanimous consensus of it being brutal with the snow drifts and swollen stream crossings. With an elated tone, some recounted instances where they had almost died, and others remarked on how it took them twice the time that they had anticipated. The common theme I realized was that each of them had gone through the formidable Sierras with a solid group of people. At this point I had at least two hundred more miles under my belt and they all seemed to feel the urgency of making it to Canada before eventually getting hit with winter’s fury. I should’ve felt ahead of the game, but I couldn’t help feeling a bit jealous of their social experiences. I yearned to be with a solid group again, but I knew that in order to enjoy the rest of my hike I would have to cherish each moment with whoever I met, no matter how the short the encounter may be.

                                                                                                                

As I hiked along the ridge the next day, I noticed a lot of smoke coming from the west. A northbounder told me about a fire that was getting close to the trail, so I hiked at almost a jogging pace to get past the smoke. I could literally see the flames across the valley, and helicopters with buckets were flying over the trail. Firefighters were suiting up in the landing zone in a meadow just left of me, and they wondered what the heck a thru-hiker was doing in the area. I wanted to answer “getting to town, like I’m always doing”. The truth is, I love being out in wilderness, but being in town gives me a chance to recharge and gorge on precious calories. It also makes the wilderness that more precious because it reminds me how wild and untamed it can be compared to the civility and order of town. Eventually I got to the road crossing to get to Etna, California. I heard that getting a hitch there could be hard, so I called the hiker hostel for a ride, which would cost me $10. I waited on the side of the very empty road for the shuttle to come, but right when it pulled up, a Jeep full of people darted by and cheered me on, probably knowing I had just cleared the fire zone. They also seemed like the kind of people who would’ve picked me up no charge, but whatever, best to play it safe. Time to recharge once again!

Give Me A Break (And the whole Kit Kat Bar)

As I stumbled up to the weathered and humble monument marking the Canadian border, I immediately gave it a big hug as it symbolized the end of Washington's horrendous bugs. I thought about how much this monument must mean to thru-hikers who have traveled the entire distance of the PCT up to this point. I was two thirds of the way done, and had the comparatively lackluster views of northern California waiting for me. But the thought didn't cross my mind: I was hell bent on taking a retreat of glorious relaxation from the trail by exploring Vancouver and Seattle on the way down. The bugs had their last feast of me as I took pictures and signed the log book near the monument, humorously (and a tad grudgingly) scolding the trail for the trials it has unleashed and begging it to go easy on the bugs in Northern California. As I've gotten to know the trail like a sentient being with murmured awes and occasional curses for the past couple of months, I'm confident that we'll reach an understanding.

There's something surreal about being able to walk into another country on a hiking trail. Borders and conflict cease to exist for a split second, and one feels more primitive as he is able to escape the customs and protections of civilization and truly focus on the commonality of countries. With regard to scenery, Canada didn't look too much different from the US, until I spotted a sign in kilometers pointing me to Manning Park Resort, where Locomotive, Bronco, Matt, and I would spend the night before making our way to Vancouver. The last couple of miles (er, I mean kilometers) went by quickly as we reflected on our trips thus far and talked about our plans from here. We checked into the hostel at Manning Park and scoured the general store for snacks, in which we found quite a different assortment than in the US. I took this opportunity to try ketchup flavored chips, cane sugar soda, and Kinder Surprise eggs (banned in the US because apparently we have a habit of swallowing small toys and subsequently suing for our stupidity).

Since Matt, Locomotive, and Bronco were eager to get to Vancouver, they got up and waited for the 2 AM bus (absurdly, the only bus that would take us there). After learning it was full, they trudged back into the hostel and resigned to joining the Canadian early bird culture. At a more reasonable hour, we started hitching, where we almost immediately got a hefty dose of Canadian hospitality from a guy who agreed to take us all the way to a suburb of Vancouver. During the ride, he nearly sold us on moving to Canada, but I must say that I enjoy my hot dogs and fireworks a bit too much. Upon dropping us off, we were crammed into a metro train like the gear in our own packs, heading to the heart of Vancouver. Surrounded by well dressed people going to school or work, we stuck out like sore thumbs but were too proud of what we've accomplished so far to even care.

Our first stop in downtown Vancouver was a Tim Hortons, while novel to us, was crowded with Canadians each getting their coffee fix for about the millionth time. From there, Matt hopped right on a bus back to Northern California, and Locomotive, Bronco, and I walked along the harbor and marveled at totem poles in Stanley Park. Before heading to dinner, we went to an affordable hostel to check in, only to learn that they had but one queen sized bed available. I let locomotive and Bronco have it, and I checked into a more rowdy and slightly grungier hostel a couple of blocks away. I didn't mind however, because it reminded me of traveling around Europe. Many international travelers couldn't fathom how I was trying to hike the entire distance to Mexico to Canada, and I must confess that I couldn't as well. I guess we all have different journeys.

While exploring Canada with minimal technology was great for a day and a half, I regretted not having an international data plan when I learned that all the buses to Seattle were sold out for the day. It sure would've helped to have been able to pay for a bus ticket online, but I would catch  catch the first bus to at least across the US border and would figure it out from there. Before my departure, I bought some much needed trail runners, since my Altra Lone Peaks had gaping holes near the toes for the past couple hundred kilometers (er, I mean miles). I found a shoe that looked sturdier but still lightweight called the Columbia Conspiracies, and hoped that they would work well with my feet. After about an hour on the bus, we were ushered off and brought into customs, possessions ready to be scoured for things Trump doesn't like. I guess we've got a clandestine backpacker in chief, cause they cleared me and brought me through faster than anyone else. The same was not true, however, for a woman who was brought aside and talked to by multiple border patrol agents. Though the scene was not particularly tense, a couple of other travelers and I knew that she wouldn't be getting back on the bus when she burst into tears and was brought into another room. Fortunately for me, there was now a seat left to take the bus all the way to Seattle.

Once I arrived, I found myself in a hectic crowd of people heading to a metal concert. Because they had closed many streets, I had difficulty finding the bus to meet my friend Frozen Mac from the AT. After checking many buses that weren't it, I saw the bus that I needed pull away right as I realized, making me wait another 20 minutes for my already late rendezvous with my friend. Bummer. Eventually though we met up, talked trail things, and reminisced well into the night. The next morning, she sullenly headed to work wishing she could be on the PCT, and I enjoyed not being on the PCT while I explored downtown. I started with the Fremont Troll, a plaster sculpture under a bridge that I think fully embodies the weirdness of Seattle. I then went to the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation Visitors Center, which was an inspiring exhibit on making the world a more livable place for underprivileged peoples. Across the street, i toured the Museum of Pop Culture with an impressive collection of guitars owned by native Seattleites Jimi Hendrix and Kurt Cobain as well as a special exhibit on Jim Henson including many original muppets. With Rainbow Connection stuck in my head, I finished the museum by gazing upon several iconic movie costumes such as Skeletor's armor from the Terminator and the Cowardly Lion's mane.

Down the street a glassblowing shop caught my eye, and one of the employees immediately recognized me as a thru hiker. We talked for a little and passed my info along to a hiker friend of hers named Eagle Eye who was interested in meeting up with thru-hikers in Seattle. I'm liking this city more and more! From there, I met up with a friend of my brother-in-law Ashton's named Chris, who I had gotten to know a bit at my sisters wedding earlier this year. We talked about our adventures over huge servings of Cuban food, and he dropped me off to my friend Bender from the AT. He has been traveling cross country in his VW Microbus, but has had to stay at a friend's house to get his engine repaired. We all hung out that night and the next morning, and I got to cook in a kitchen for the first time in a while. I took advantage of the opportunity to make hiker-sized omlettes which the plates could barely contain.

To get back into downtown, I needed to catch a bus which I had narrowly missed once again, setting me back 40 minutes this time. Buses and I don't really seem to be getting along lately. I finally got to the iconic Pikes Place market, where I sampled all kinds of food including black currants (illegal in the US up until recently because of how they would kill Eastern White Pine saplings) and Geoduck (a very interesting looking type  of clam). Gazing at the Gum Wall nearby, I heard someone call out "Seinfeld!!" I turned around and randomly saw a guy I had met section hiking northern Washington. We hung out for a while filling our fro yo cups to the brim  and I went to meet Eagle Eye, whose parents were having a barbecue for many thru-hikers.

I don't think I've ever eaten as good as i had that day, and I hoped that it would help me not wither away by the end of the trip. I have to say that at this point, I'm skinnier than I've been since my early teen years, down from my heaviest after the first semester of college. After weighing myself at Eagle Eye's, I saw myself at 142 pounds, which means I've lost almost fifty percent of my body weight since my heaviest. Not completely intentional, but still incredible. I'm just looking forward to putting on some muscle after this trip so that I don't look like a scarecrow.

The next day I proceeded to travel back down to Northern California, because I figured I'd better finish this thing. Before catching a train down to southern Oregon, I resupplied for the next couple of days at an asian market, filling my food bag with legit ramen and green tea candies from Japan. The train ride down was exceptionally beautiful, but upon arriving at the station where my bus was going to leave from, I learned that it was delayed for at least three hours. This means I would be getting into Northern California well after midnight, which I dreaded. When the coach bus finally arrived, the only seat left had a broken outlet, meaning i would have to charge my phone somewhere for a while before hitting trail the next morning. Ugh.

After charging my phone to a substantial fifty percent battery, I was reminded of why I hate hitching in Northern California. Many people in wealthy cars passed me thinking I was a bum (I've said it before and I'll say it again: theres a difference between thru hikers and bums!!), and it took me a grand total of three hours to finally catch a ride. Ugh, again. Finally getting back on trail, I hiked a couple of miles where I set up camp next to some northbounders. They were amazed that I  had finished Oregon and Washington, and I was amazed that that they successfully went through the Sierras. It was incredible swapping stories and telling eachother what we had to look forward to. And thus began my southbound adventure.

Ups and Roars

The climb up to the ridge of Old Snowy Mountain progressed as if I was stuck on a stair master machine without a stop button. At the same time, wildflowers decorated the landscape around me as if I was walking through a slanted botanical garden. I traversed another snowfield on this July day, thinking of all the ridiculous promises I'd have to follow up on if people held me to it. Finally reaching the junction for the summit, I left my pack behind a rock and split off from the PCT to bag my first peak in quite some time. Every step on the loose shale rock sounded like I was surveying the aftermath of a China Shop accident. Eventually I had to use my hands to lift myself along the knife edge, with Mt. Rainier behind me tracking my every move. As I reached the summit and overtaken by 360 degree views, I let out a victory roar to show the Goat Rocks Wilderness who was boss. The rest of the day was equally spectacular and mine to enjoy, but I couldn't shake the feeling that Northern Washington heard me roar and vowed not to go down as easily.

Coming down into White Pass, I hurried to the Kracker Barrel Convenience Store that didn't at all resemble the quaint and friendly country stores and restaurants quintessential to an American road trip. Because of their limited resupply options, I picked up a food box I had mailed to myself and sat down like I had never seen a chair before to sort it out. Seeing me in my raggedy state, a section hiker invited me to take a shower and hang out in the motel room he had rented across the street. A young guy from Vancouver, BC, he reveled in the idea of pretty much hiking home and wondered what New Hampshire was like. I told him about our tiny little hills and whoopie pies, which made me want to go back to the convenience store for some snacks. I didn't realize quite how tired and delerious I was after that day until I struggled to remember which room he was in. Eventually though, my memory came back and I hung out some more until setting up camp in a secluded spot and passed out. For some reason the next day, I felt really good and ended up doing 31 miles, my biggest day yet. It felt even bigger when a section hiker came up and asked to interview me on my thru hike, which I tried to look remotely professional for in front of his camera. In spite of my longest day yet, I had trouble falling asleep to the sound of families with screaming children camping near me. I guess you never know what you'll get on this trail.

Going over a pass the next morning, I saw clouds billowing over a nearby ridgeline like a waterfall while hearing a pack of coyotes howling down in the valley. It was pretty much a sign that today would be a good day. I called my folks and enjoyed an easy ridge walk to a shelter, built in honor of a trail maintainer whose ghost watches over it according to a poem above the door. Being sure to leave it cleaner than I found it, I explored around and found a cooler stocked with beers and fresh veggies specifically for hikers. I gladly used a jalapeño in my mashed potatoes and shared stories with some southbounders. The next day however, I felt zapped of energy and struggled to make it even 18 miles, my smallest day in a while. Adding insult to injury, I seemed to pass several southbounders moseying downhill while I slogged uphill throughout the day. I felt better the next day and made it to Snoqualmie Pass, where I resupplied and got lunch from a food truck that's popular with hikers. Though it was delicious, it wasn't too popular with this hikers stomach as I climbed 3000 feet out of the pass.

The next couple days were especially scenic with jagged peaks, glacially carved valleys, and pristine alpine lakes. However, the trail made me work real hard for it, sending me up 3000 foot climbs and dropping me back down just to do it all over again. The trail occasionally took us across unstable rock slides which could hold a hiker, but I couldn't imagine how a horse would get across. It seems like whoever designed this section of trail has a personal vendetta against horses. I got to a raging creek three days in which I was able to jump across from a hanging rock, but a southbounder had to ford it downstream, getting wet up to his mid thighs. Besides not having to start my trip in brutal Washington, there are moments that I appreciate being a northbounder. Another reason is being able to hike only eight miles into Canada to finish rather than having to start by hiking thirty one miles from the last road in the US to the northern terminus. Of course, I could only do it if my application to enter Canada were to be approved, and with my entry date coming up soon, I started to worry if it would be denied. The last thing I wanted to do would be reaching the terminus and having to backtrack thirty one miles.

As I got closer to Stevens Pass, the gum around one of my wisdom teeth started to become swollen, making it hard to eat. A section hiker I had met carried hydrogen peroxide and let me gargle a little bit, but even that didn't do the trick. As I got to the pass, I accepted that I would need to visit a walk-in clinic and get an antibiotic prescription. Not the way I envisioned spending a rest day. After a hitch to town and waiting for the doctor though, I was surprised when a nurse came in with a plate full of snacks that the clinic workers all pitched in for. I was very grateful for it, and I picked up my antibiotics and hitched to a trail angel's house owned by the Dinsmores. I spent the rest of the day watching movies and even caught the official season premier of my favorite show Rick and Morty, which was a special treat. The next day getting back on trail, I was greeted with even more uphills, but Washington decided to throw heat, humidity, and copious amounts of bugs into the mix. Some days were so bad that I couldn't stop for more than a couple of seconds without the bugs starting to gnaw at me. Eating and drinking through my headnet while hiking became the name of the game, and as much as I wanted to savor the rest of Washington, the bugs would end up rushing me to get done.

Going through the Glacier Peak Wilderness, the heat and humidity made uphills twice as laborious. For the first time this trip, I ran out of water halfway up a mountain, and I worried if I would have to go back down just to get more. Thankfully, a section hiker spared a couple of sips, and I made it up to the first snow pile where I sucked out water like my life depended on it. The next day brought me deep into a valley and far out of the way so we could cross a river on a new bridge. As frustrating as the detour looked on my map, I was thankful for the bridge when I saw just how raging the river was. The rest of the day slapped me with severly overgrown trail (apparently called horse heaven, but i called it hiker hell) and rocky terrain, bringing a near end to literally the most difficult section of the PCT that I've experienced thus far.

I woke up early the next day to hike a couple miles where I picked up a shuttle to get into the charming town of Stehekin. The town is only accessible to the outside world via ferry or float plane and is know for its amazing views across Lake Chelan. Because of recent forest fires in British Columbia however, it was hard to see even a hundred feet away. If it were any smokier, it surely would've been hard to breathe. In town, I showered and washed my clothes (yes, at the same time, don't judge), printed out my approved permit to enter Canada, and gorged on an all-you-can-eat barbecue dinner.

Getting back on trail the next day, I saw the first bear of my trip just minding his business crossing the trail in front of me. Nevertheless, I spent the next couple of minutes talking loudly just to be safe. I munched on huckleberries and found an incredible campsite in a glacial bowl. As I was cooking my dinner, I was startled by a roaring sound and saw a couple of rocks fall not too far from me. It only ended up happening once, but I took it as Washinhton telling who was boss. I gained a whole new respect for the state and wondered what the rest of the trail would be like in comparison. I can honestly say that in all my years of hiking, I'd never been mentally challenged as much as I had in the past week, and I hoped that I would be able to keep my sanity for the rest of the trail. I realized that out of all hardships, bugs were what had gotten to me the most, and I was more than ready to bid good ridden to them and Washington. And that was right when I got to the Canadian border.

Wook At Us Now

He stood before me accomplished, beastly, and with an odor only someone like me would recognize. My friend Wookie and I started our hike along with a friend of his from earlier on trail named Poppie. A nutritionist from Washington, she had gotten off in southern California due to injury but was itching for at least a weekend trip back on the PCT. She met us at the trailhead, and we ascended as usual. We ran into snowfields halfway through our beautiful July day, and then I realized one of the snow cups on my poles had fallen off. I feared that it would make the next couple of days more difficult with my pole sinking deep into snow, but Poppie saved the day by giving me the cap to her Gatorade. A crude fix, but it would do the job. We made camp on the first patch of ground we saw and each prepared our dinner of Ramen, solidifying Poppie as a thru hiker at heart.

We trekked around the breathtaking Three Sisters range the next day, hiking on snow but eventually giving way to lava flows and a sparkling obsidian landscape. The reflective qualities of that day gave me a pretty bad sunburn on my face, despite my wearing a hat. Wookie and Poppie remarked during sunset that it was the same shade of red as I was. Very funny guys. We hiked out to a road the next morning on 4th of July and drove to good old Bend to watch the puppy (and llama) parade, cook bratwurst over a fire, and gawk at fireworks. She needed to head back to Washington, so Wookie and I got a hitch back to the trail by a group of older women. I was amused when Wookie and one of the women talking about how much they liked the mobile game Pokemon Go. This day of hiking barely had any snow and was dry of water sources, a rarity for both of us. However, the next day hit us with extremely steep snowfields that we needed to precariously kick steps in to get across. It was nerve-wracking looking down and knowing that one slip would mean death for either of us. The mental concentration and force on our ankles from kicking into snow left us totally beat after 15 miles.

The next day led us around Mt Jefferson, which miraculously far less snow and blowdowns compared to the rest of Oregon. The answer became clear when we saw a trail crew during lunch, and we thanked them profusely for their service. That evening, we found an incredible campsite near an alpine meadow overlooking the gigantic peak. According to our maps, the next couple miles of trail switchbacks up a snowy slope bringing more sidehilling, so we started our day reliving the AT by going straight up instead. Our microspikes and the hard icy crust left by the chilly night made the ascent easy, and we got spectacular views all the way to Mt Rainier from the top. Once we descended the other side, we did a small resupply from the tiny camp store at a resort. The next day and a half kept us at lower elevation with no snow, allowing us to catch up on miles.

Right before ascending to treeline on Mt Hood, we needed to resupply in the small, historic town of Government Camp. All of the expensive cars from Portland passing (and sometimes clearly avoiding) us made for a frustrating hitch, but we eventually got picked up by a former PCT thru hiker with a gorgeous husky. He was excited to meet his first real northbounders, telling us over lunch of a guy he had met a couple of days earlier named Peer Pressure who claimed to be thru hiking. The far fetched story of him completing the high sierras in March and his request to borrow money only by online transfer gave him uneasy thoughts. Wookie and I apologized on behalf of the class of 2017 for the bad egg and hoped that we wouldn't run into him. After resupplying, he offered to slack pack us up to Timberline Lodge, where we would camp near and roast bratwurst (Wookie and I share a favorite food, can you tell?). When we got to the top, we checked out the historic lodge where the opening scene of The Shining was filmed and watched a documentary they were showing about volcanic eruptions. Pretty cryptic taking into account that the very volcano we were on the side of is considered active.

We said our goodbyes the next morning and began to hike around Oregon's highest peak. We descended to a roaring creek, where I began to feel my way across using my poles. The current was so strong, however, that it swiped a pole right out of my hand and carried it downstream faster than I could chase after it. I was pretty angry for a while, but then I came across a strong stick among the brittle conifer branches that would make a good replacement. The rest of the day was scenic, but I was excited for the next day where we could take an alternate route where part of the trail was tunneled behind a waterfall. It is also a slightly shorter route to get to the last town of Oregon, which is Cascade Locks. Our dreams were crushed, though, when a southbounder told us that the alternate route was closed. I guess you can't win them all. I wasn't too surprised however, since I realized hiking the PCT is like trying to win against the dealer at a casino: be prepared to lose, but keep telling yourself that it's still fun.

Coming into Cascade locks, we resupplied at a Walmart, which was a shock to both of us. We then went to library and applied for permission to enter Canada from the PCT to avoid having to hike back 30 miles to the nearest road in the US. We stayed a night with a trail angel named Shrek with an appropriately named house called "Shrek's Swamp". Another couple was staying there, and we learned that the guy had directed the first two seasons of the discovery channel show Naked and Afraid. I assumed that he knew what he was doing out here, or else discovery Channel will have lied to me. We all went to a brewery where people could buy a thru hiker a pint by putting a message on a coaster and when a thru hiker walks in, he can reimburse it and read the message. It was awesome being in a real trail town for the first time in a while.

The next morning, we went where Cheryl Strayed had never gone before by crossing the Bridge of the Gods into Washington. It was great to have one state finished, but we realized that Washington would be significantly harder with its constant ups and downs as well as the worst mosquitos we've seen on the trip thus far. I thought there was no way they could get any worse than halfway through Oregon, but the fact that I needed to eat and drink through my head net proved me wrong. A couple of days after entering Washington, we got into the tiny town of Trout Lake and found out they sold bunks behind the general store for a great price. We took advantage of that to recharge for mosquito hell, but the next day brought us around the windy and relatively bug-free Mt Adams, the first amazing volcano of the state. The slopes of the mountain were blazing with wildflowers, and the alpine lakes reflected Mt adams as well as Mt Rainier. The next day, we talked about when we wanted to get to Canada, and Wookie remarked that he wanted to take his time. Because I wanted time to finish up California before even more snow came, I decided to forge ahead with bigger miles. With more northbounders in the log books however, it shouldn't be hard for me to find another group of smelly chums.

That Other Oregon Trail

Phone not charging. My fears were confirmed as I plugged in my phone at a Mt. Shasta gear shop. The cold and humidity on top of that Northern California didn't get the best of me, but it did some damage to my phone. I would stop by Radioshack in the morning to fix it, or even replace it. Before they opened, I purchased a pocket fan at Rite Aid and performed phone surgery at a nearby O'Reillys as a last ditch effort. I was relieved when I saw the lightning bolt come onto the screen. I wouldn't need to redownload my maps, but most importantly, I can still write what had happened for you all.

As I walked out of the supermarket, I was greeted by a guy named Dusty who I thought was another thru-hiker. As I hadn't seen Rambo and Mcflurry in days, I asked him what he thought of the last gnarly section of trail. Apart from strangly describing it as "enchanting" rather than the more accurate "deadly", I realized he wasn't a thru-hiker when he picked the skateboard up from behind his pack. He explained to me that he considers himself to be part of a prophesied "rainbow people" who keeps the woods around Mt. Shasta healthy by spreading good vibes to others. He tokd me him and many others live in a makeshift camp on national forest property called the Buddha Hole, and invited me to spend a night. Not wanting to stealth camp in town, I accepted and found myself at a literal hippie fest, complete with bongo circles, communal dinners, and VW Microbuses parked all around. I had time traveled to the '60s, and had a groovy night making organic sandwiches and jamming on my uke around a fire.

The next morning, I relived my childhood by watching the new Captain Underpants movie, sitting in the back of the theater in order not to shock families with the smells of both thru-hiker and hippie. At a Taco Bell, I saw Rambo and Mcflurry and was sad to hear that they would both be quitting the trail due to the snow levels. I wanted to give the PCT my best shot though (while still coming out alive of course), so I opted to skip the last 200 miles of California which according to my maps looked like even worse sidehilling. I decided that I would hitch up to Ashland, Oregon and hike north based on a report of less steep ridgelines and lower elevations. I would hopefully run into a couple more thru-hikers, and of course get a shower.

When I woke up the next morning, I swallowed and a sharp, familiar pain radiated from my throat. I must've caught strep throat from one of the kids at yesterday's movie, making me delerious and struggling to function as I picked up my microspikes from the post office and hitched to Callahan's Lodge near the trail in Ashland. I used that day and the next to recover, watch movies, and camp in a designated PCT hiker spot out back. Getting back on trail, I experienced Oregon's meadows, lush forests, and plentiful water and had a flaskback of the AT. Even more of a flashback came the next day when I got to my first shelter of the PCT and wrote a joke in the shelter log followed by my trail name. I must say that I miss writing in shelter logs, as it gave even more personality to people's trail names and allowed me to see who was ahead on trail. As I perused the book, I realized that I would be hiking alone for a while. I just didn't know how long.

My flashbacks of the AT ended though when I ran into snow just near Mt. McLaughlin, starting with patches but eventually getting to the point where I had to keep looking at my map app to see if I was still on trail. From then on, I grudgingly referred to it as "playing the game." Beyond my expectations, I came across a section hiker who told me about a trail parallel to the PCT called the skyline trail that he thought might have less snow, and if not, a bailout farther down that would bring me near Crater Lake. I decided to take it, but with more of playing the game on laborious snow, I took the bailout and got a short hitch to Crater Lake National Park, where I felt somewhat treated like a celebrity by people who's definition of a hike was walking from the parking lot to the  visitor's center.

As I got up to the rim (technically not part of the PCT), I started my hike around it when a ranger stopped me to check my permit. Because I thought having the PCT permit would allow me to backcountry camp in whatever national parks it crossed through, I show him that, to which he replied that I would need a different permit to camp. With a more prying tone, he then asked me if i was high on drugs due to my eyes being red. I explained that I most likely got sunburned on my corneas from following the blazes up to the rim without my subglasses. Because the ranger station was closed and I didn't feel like possibly dealing with another machiavellian ranger, I hitched out of the park and over to the nearby Diamond Lake Resort. I called my dad for Father's Day, cleaned out a breakfast buffet, and rested like a champ.

I realized that hiking the Oregon part of the PCT is like playing the computer game Oregon Trail, except no matter how well you do, you eventually die from getting your blood sucked out by mosquitoes. I applied tons of deet buy I still had to constantly swat clouds of them away from my face or else I'd breathe them in. On top of being alone for a while, navigating annoying snow drifts and blowdowns most of the day, and ending it with a frigid waist-deep ford, I let off some steam and seriously reassessed my trip. I decided that I would hike a hundred more miles and hang out in Bend, Oregon for as long as it would take for my AT friend Wookie to catch up. I figured by then some snow would melt and the mosquito population would drop.

I hiked a couple more days, having to put my beloved ukulele up for adoption at a shelter due to it snagging on blowdowns. With so many of them and the sheer lack of people to hear my playing, it wasn't worth carrying around anymore.  One perk about this section of trail is all of the pristine ponds i come across. I eventually got to the town of bend where I explored the downtown, sampled microbrews, and camped on national forest land just outside of town. I attended church, and an older outdoorsy couple I had chatted wi th invited me to stay at their house. I was thankful to fully recuperate, get to know them, and explore the town on a bike. After about a week, I got reaquainted with my pack and got back on trail to meet up with Wookie. It will surely be nice to hike with someone else again, especially since he isn't afraid of snow and has a southern accent. Like the trail, it's all about the small perks.

Between Two Peaks

I'm sorry, did I say before that hitching north and hiking in minimal snow would be easier than the desert? Boy, was I mistaken. But first, I must say that the drive up to Lake Tahoe and our time there was a well deserved luxury. After a fellow AT hiker named Rev gave us a ride into the town of Ridgecrest, Rambo, Mcflurry, and I loaded up our rental Chevy SUV and tried not to stink it up too much. As we drove north, the beasts that are the high sierras loomed over us to the left, and we gazed in awe and felt glad to not be going through them anytime soon. Seeing peaks still plastered with snow in June made me think I was looking up at the Himalayas. We drove through quaint little towns, knowing they would later be our lifelines when it comes time to trek through the most remote section of the PCT.

After being surrounded by pristine mountains and small towns all day, the casinos and packed boulevards of Lake Tahoe were a shock to the senses. We immediately checked into our motel-turned-hostel and found jeans in the hiker box for each of us to wear. Despite there being no other reasonable place near trail to drop off our rental car, we had a blast exploring the city and trying our luck at some slots and table games on a hikers budget. We spent the next morning trying to find a cup of coffee under five bucks and then started hitching north. A girl right out of college was the first to pick us up, and she picked our brains about thru-hiking since she was interested in completing one someday. Our next hitch was from a guy who had been hiking in Northern California for a while, and he told us there was still significant snow until the town of Old Station.

After some research, I learned that not only was Old Station a town literally consisting of a general store and a ranger station, but also that it was as far from anything as you could get in Northern CA. The only alternative was to go all the way up to Oregon, but we all wanted to give Northern CA a fair chance. Accepting that we had several long hitches ahead of us, we started making a cardboard sign at a nearby post office, only to be accused of panhandling and thrown off the property by an employee. I guess she hadn't met any thru-hikers before. The next day was a blur of Norman Rockwell-esque towns, sticking my thumb out to cars that mostly didn't pick us up, and answering the same questions to the people who did. Another gas station, another full car passing us by, another driver shocked by how we could hike this long. Not that we didn't appreciate the gesture of being picked up, but when we got as far as we could that day, we were about ready to collapse. Who knew that hitching was just as exhausting as hiking through the desert.

Our final hitch the next morning was by a forest service employee, and we got a valuable botany lesson which made me appreciate this area even more. As soon as we saw the PCT again, we were invigorated and quickly ascended the ridge where we saw two huge snow-capped volcanoes: one north of us and one south. We were truly in Northern California. Familiarity slapped us in the face pretty soon after though, as we had to take a long, steep side trail to a water source. Though this was out of the norm for Northern CA, it made me realize that if there's one thing I miss about the AT, it's that you are your own boss. You can do as many miles as you want, whenever you want. For much of the PCT, water and heat have been our bosses, and I was more excited then ever to start thru-hiking this trail for real.

As it turns out, the cold is not a very nice boss, but more on that in a bit. The next day brought flat but rocky terrain, but we all recharged by having lunch at the nearby Burney Mountain Guest Ranch. As the cushion in my shoes was starting to wear out (the rocks definitely made me notice), I looked for new insoles in their store while Rambo and Mcflurry continued a couple miles to Burney Falls State Park. By the time I got there, I hadn't been able to find them among the throngs of tourists, so I camped a little bit past and got an early start the next morning. I had heard that day was calling for rain and colder temps, but because the trail was not yet cut back for the hiking season, I ended up getting soaked and chilled to the bone. When I topped the foggy ridge by noon, I knew for my safety I had to just make camp and bundle up in my sleeping bag.

The next day was just as wet and cold, and putting on soggy clothes put an immediate damper on the day. Continuing on the ridge, I eventually ran into snow. The reports I had looked at were correct when they said the snow wasn't as deep, since it was in patches. What it failed to mention was that it was drifted about twenty feet high in some spots, turning the ridge into a slippery roller coaster. When the trail wasn't right on the ridge, I was forced to side hill on preverbial slush with no discernable path. I was forced to constantly look at my guide app just to make sure I was still on trail. The constant use, together with the cold and humidity eventually zapped my phone of any battery life, meaning I was stuck up on the ridge.

At that moment, I knew it was time to bail. I remembered seeing on my app that tons of logging roads hugged the north side of the mountain, so all I had to do was descend and I would eventually meet up with a highway. Once off the ridge, I slid down, slowing and steering myself with my poles while dodging trees. I actually felt confident doing what's called glissading, since I had done it many times this previous winter in New Hampshire. Once I met my first logging road, I continued down and chose my direction at each fork based on intuition and a little luck. Eventually the road became gravel and then pavement, and I rejoiced like a mad man. When I heard some cars in the distance, it was like someone had lifted an extra pack off of my shoulders. I got a ride into the town of Mt. Shasta in no time, and I celebrated being alive. Now with the matter of what to do with the rest of Northern California.......

Hiking the Graveyard Shift

Great pancakes and company from trail angels John and Terri awaited us hikers that morning at Casa de Luna. As we posed for a group picture, we quickly learned what previous hikers meant by spontaneously seeing the moon there. Let's just say I had never seen a trail angel's backside until that moment. I bet we all had hilariously disturbed faces in that picture. From there, we headed up into the clouds and the wind picked up like never before. I kept telling myself sarcastically, "you'll love California, it's always warm". Since my trusted comrades Rambo and Mcflurry like early starts (I guess some military habits never leave you), they camped by the road the previous night. I figured I'd catch them by mile 500, but I assumed they decided to push onto a designated campsite. Being content with my 26 miles, I had a night to myself and quietly celebrated the milestone.

To my luck, I saw my friends get on trail right as I passed the designated campsite. Taking a frustratingly roller coaster-like up and down route, we hiked 10 miles down to the western edge of the Mojave Desert. During it, we gazed upon the flat and scorching landscape to the east and were thankful that we only had to cross a 17 mile section along the LA aqueduct. At the start of the real desert lay a collection of trailers and shacks converted into rooms that hikers could sleep in. Each room looked like the inside of an antique store and was filled with dust and cobwebs. Though there were a couple of hikers milling around, the whole place had an eerie, apocalyptic feel. After resupplying and getting lunch at a nearby cafe, we followed the aqueduct which started out as a straight river, turned into a half-buried pipe, and ended as a fully buried concrete tunnel that we could walk on. The cool, windy weather as well as the flat terrain made this section very easy, a good end to my first 30 mile day. If only we could see John Travolta zoom on by.

The next day brought us past a large wind farm and back into the mountains. To our surprise, waiting at the top for us was trail magic, so we ate well and followed the ridge down to the road crossing to Tehachapi. Right when we got there, a guy in a pickup brought us into town and dropped us off at his favorite bbq restaurant, which did not disappoint. We camped that night behind the restaurant in a teepee, and had a relaxing morning before taking the bus to our motel in the nearby town of Mojave. Both Rambo and I were expecting packages, but since this day was a Sunday and the next was Memorial Day, it was a perfect excuse to recharge our bodies for the next section. After hiking 560 miles, sitting in a hotel room and eating all day never felt more deserving.

After picking up our packages, we waited out the heat in a McDonald's and got a hitch back to the trail right before sundown. According to a weather report, the next couple of days were expected to be very hot, so we made the decision to start hiking during late afternoon and into the night, and sleep during the day. After getting into camp at 2 AM and waking up at 11, we were surprised to find cool weather, but then again, what do you expect from the state that's supposedly always warm. After getting rained on a little bit for good measure, we got to our foggy campsite and enjoyed hiking through a beautiful ponderosa pine forest the next morning at a reasonable time. Despite cool temperatures, the desert eventually returned, and before us lay the driest section of the PCT. However, we were delighted to hear from a southbound section hiker that there were two reliable water caches ahead maintained by trail angels. With this knowledge, I could spare some water in me to cry tears of joy.

Though certainly making this section more bearable, we still had to go uphill in loose sand which left us wiped out as we got to our campsite. But our spirits were lifted again when we met a trail angel making burritos for us. The next morning immediately shot us uphill, and the trail followed a ridgeline down to walker pass, where we were greeted with chili dogs and macaroni salad. It seems like my emotions have been as up and down as the terrain lately. But I know that soon I'll be more in my element, as my group and I have decided to skip up to northern California and hike the high sierras soon after walker pass after more snow melts. We knew that this winter brought far more snow than usual to California, but we didn't know how far north the snowpack persisted. Our plan is to rent a car, drive five hours to Lake Tahoe, and hitch north until we determine from locals that the snow has melted enough. This should be easy compared to the desert....