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....

Warm yesterday, even warmer today

Getting a ride back to the trail via fire truck was definitely a first for me, but hey, that's Wrightwood for you. A trail angel and retired firefighter I stayed with named Leroy drove me back in his vintage, pickup-sized fire truck with bells and all and we parted ways. My mission was to catch up to Rambo and Mcflurry, who opted to camp near the trail last night to get an early start. Fueled by a wonderful trail angel breakfast, I wizzed up to the summit of 9,400 foot Mt. Baden-Powell where throngs of day hikers and boy scouts awaited me. They saw me as sort of a novelty for attempting the entire PCT, which made feel like king of the hikers for a bit. However, the next section followed a ridgeline, which brought constant up and down and some tough terrain. I slogged over to the next water source and made my way through a crowd of boy scouts to meet back up with my friends.

A couple miles of trail ahead of us were closed due to the endangered mountain yellow-legged frog breeding there, so we let the lovers be and took the reroute along the Angeles Crest Highway. Motorcyclists and sport cars howled by until we came to a campground near the PCT, where we were greeted by a former thru-hiker weekend tripping with his four year old son. He cooked us up some bratwurst while his son quizzically looked at our packs and gear. Yes kid, things can get that dirty. After great food and conversation, we went a little ways to set up camp, where I noticed my feet had gotten quite bruised by all of that road walking. I looked forward to walking on cushy trail from now on.

The next day brought hot weather and a very drawn out ascent in a burned area with no shade (I guess Leroy can't get them all), but that wasn't what we were worried about. We learned of a plant called Poodle Dog Bush that often grows in burned areas. It can cause a rash when brushed up against, and we heard reports that it was growing close to the trail. We spent the day mentally blocking out the heat while keeping our wits about us enough to avoid the poodle dog bush. We got to a fire station where we filled up for an 18 mile stretch without water the next day, making our packs significantly heavier. To conserve water, we cooked dinner before heading two more miles to our campsite, but the wind in the valley kept trying to blow our stoves out. Whatever, I don't mind my ramen with a little bit of crunch.

The next day was even hotter than the previous day, so we took a three hour long siesta before we started hiking again. Since there was a campground with a snack bar eight miles ahead, we made good pace motivated by pints of cold ice cream. Many other thru-hikers seemed to be cooling off as well, especially a guy who had accidentally dropped one of his liters of water down a hill. I definitely wouldn't want to be in that situation during a hot day such as this. Since the campground sat right near train tracks that brought commuter trains to and from LA, we got poor sleep. But that didn't worry us much, because the next day, we were headed into Agua Dulce where we would go to Hiker Heaven.

No, we haven't died, at least not yet. This establishment is perfectly engineered to serve the needs of a thru-hiker, offering showers, laundry (with loaner clothes), wifi, gear repair, and most importantly, places to get out of the heat. I had fun relaxing and hanging out with other hikers, until I downloaded the latest water report. Just when I thought the desert would be over soon, I saw that one hundred miles ahead of us lay the driest section of the PCT. It would require thru-hikers to carry up to five liters of water at a time (eleven pounds!!) and would force us to get up extremely early in the morning to beat the heat. Basically, we're destined to be overburdened, sleep deprived zombies, a real fun way to hike for sure. I dreaded the thought of hiking that section so much that it made me sick to my stomach. That morning, I walked into heaven, but I left with a vision of hell. I hiked the next day on the fence about my thru-hike, wondering if there was any good that could outweight the horrible section to come.

Later that day, we arrived at a trail angels house that they called Casa de Luna, which felt very akin to an AT hangout spot. I was suddenly flooded with memories of the AT, good times and bad. Then it hit me: no matter how many bad moments I had on the AT, there was always without fail a good moment right around the corner. I started feeling more hopeful as the day went by, and I decided to focus on how magnificent and wet the high sierras and the rest of the trail will be. We thru-hikers all gorged on a nacho bar and had great conversation before passing out for the night. I believe that every thru-hike has a turning point, something that steers it in the right direction and gives confidence that things will work out for the better. I hope my time at Casa de Luna was just that.

Reunions and Rambunctious Times

While in the town of Big Bear Lake, I invited my friend Yankee from the AT to stop by our hotel room because he was in the area. We caught up, and Rambo joined us in reminiscing over how much wetter and steeper the AT was compared to the PCT. To be honest, I have trouble answering when first time thru-hikers ask me which trail I like better, because they each have their own good and bad. The next day though, we got to share in a beloved AT tradition. Yankee slack packed us for 20 miles, meeting us with our stuff and a big sub sandwich at a forest road crossing.

We woke up the next morning to frost on our tents, and we said goodbye to Yankee, who was just waking up comfortably from inside the customized cab of his truck. Filled with climbing gear, he'll be heading up to Mammoth Lakes, CA to climb all summer long.  I hope I can meet up with him again in the Sierras, weather permitting. I have to say that this morning didn't surprise me, as I've felt at least a couple gusts of cold wind whipping across the trail each day. I like to tell thru-hikers who have also done the AT that California is warm just like Virginia is flat: in that it mostly isn't. I would've never guessed southern CA would be this cold, but I'm managing. I'm hoping that this is just spring mode and that the higher Sierras will be in summer mode by the time I enter them.

Later that day, we stopped by some hot springs near the trail to take a dip, being careful not to let our heads go underwater due to supposed brain eating amoeba. I was able to reunite with two other guys i had met on the AT who were also hiking the PCT. We caught up and got pictures, which we would send to fellow hiker trash as nostalgia. After warming up and soothing our sore muscles, we air dried before continuing on a bit more because none of us had brought towels. Something I've noticed about PCT hikers is that nearly all of them start the trail prepared, as opposed to the AT where some hikers carry unnecessary and cumbersome gear for weeks. Though I would say towns are about as commonly found at the beginning of both trails, it seems like PCT thru-hikers have more risk to mitigate, which requires then to be smart about their gear. However, they still need to develop their trail legs like AT thru-hikers. Maybe that's why my group has been cruising.

The next day took us near a picnic area with a pavilion, where we saw a group of hikers enjoying a pizza that they had delivered. While Rambo and Shannon decided to hike late into the day to get to a McDonald's near the trail, I decided to camp a bit before it. Eventually, the pizza group mustered up the energy to hike and camped with me. They were very appreciative of my ukelele playing, and there was great conversation that night. I got to the McDonald's the next morning, where I learned that what we thought was a 22 mile stretch without water was actually a 27 mile stretch according to the most recent water report. Since 20 of those miles ascended over five thousand feet and my right achilles tendon was starting to bother me, I opted to hitch ahead, do that section southbound (and thankfully downhill), and meet my friends in Wrightwood when we were all done.

Though it was a pretty tough hitch from just off Interstate 15 where the McDonald's was, I easily got a hitch from Wrightwood further along on trail.  I enjoyed doing the section downhill so that I didn't need to carry as much water and I could go easy on my Achilles tendon, but I confused many hikers who saw me going southbound. The next morning, I did 5 more miles back to the McDonald's and hitched back into Wrightwood, where I stayed with a trail angel who had worked as a wilderness firefighter for 40 years. After seeing all the fire damage on the PCT and thinking how much worse it could be, I thanked him for his service. I then realized I had accidentally left a pair of socks at my campsite last night, but he had a pair that a hiker didn't want anymore (cleaned of course). I met up with Rambo and shannon and enjoyed the town or Wrightwood the wright way by gorging on mexican food.

Trial by Fire Closure

Rambo, Kate, Shannon and I each finished a football-sized breakfast burrito and then got a hitch into Idyllwild for our hard earned zero day. We were picked up by a cheery woman named Diane, who regaled us with a story of her and her sister being stalked by a mountain lion during an evening hike in the area. So far on our trip, we've encountered beetles, gnats, squirrels, and even a rattlesnake, who gave us plenty of warning of his presence. As improbable as it may be though, we each had mixed feelings about encountering a mountain lion. As for me, I debated carrying cat nip for a worst case scenario.

After replenishing lost calories and relaxing in Idyllwild, we hiked back up to the ridge to rejoin the PCT. Before us lay the highest peak in southern California, the majestic and still snow-covered San Jacinto Peak. Rambo and Kate were intent on making the 3 mile side trip up to the summit, but since I knew of a long stretch without water immediately after that I didn't want to camp in, I was on the fence. The sky was getting hazy, we would be receiving many more views on the PCT itself. I got about a third of the way up and decided not to tire myself out before clearing the waterless stretch.

The San Jacinto ridge presented a different kind of forest from the typical sage brush, yucca, cacti, and other prickly bushes that we had been used to seeing. We found ourselves surrounded by enormous ponderosa pines with trunks the width of queen size beds and firs that let off an aroma similar to what I've become used to in the northeast. I liked being up here, but eventually it was time to descend back to the desert biome. And descend we did, as we lost nearly seven thousand feet by the end of the day. We gradually switchbacked our way down, and I was starting to miss the quick and straight descents I've also become used to in the northeast.

The next couple of days presented us a problem: there was a 16 mile fire closure that PCT hikers could hike through, but could not camp due to the risk of a dead tree blowing over onto an unsuspecting hikers tent. The closure began 30 miles from our second day, meaning we had to either do two short days right up to the closure, or two long days to clear it. In this game of skill, we opted to do two long days cause we felt we could do it. Well, here goes nothing. Our first day started with a trail magic breakfast of cinnamon buns and root beer floats, which propelled us up the windy ridge and down to a wide, rocky river bed which proved difficult to follow the trail up through.

The second day immediately started with a posterior-kicking incline up to a ridge, which we followed for the rest of the day. Back among the ponderosa pines and firs, we stopped for a break and saw our first "horseback hiker" doing a section of the PCT. So that explains the intermittent piles of poop along this trail. Because Shannon was starting to develop shin splints, she hitched into the nearest town to rest up. At the end of the day, the rest of us came across a metal box filled with soda and oreo packets, which was a great way to celebrate the end of the fire closure. We pumped out miles the next morning to a road crossing and hitched into Big Bear Lake to meet up with Shannon and call our mothers. After all, who else would be rightfully nervous of us hiking from Mexico to Canada and encountering mountain lions?

Dust in the Wind

After a delightful time eating and chatting with other hikers at Carmens in Julian, I got a hitch back to the trail with a man and his 3 year old daughter. They were going for an evening hike, and they were the most adorable hiking duo ever. As it was my first time in a while interacting with kids, I asked the ever famous "what do you want to be when you grow up?" When she replied with wanting to be a PCT thru-hiker, I realized my heart was the only thing that hadn't melted in the desert earlier that day. The father, who is a meteorologist, told me in detail about the high winds and rain expected for the  next few days. I guess this trail is intent on showing us its full personality right off the bat.

The duo dropped me off back at the trail, and a couple hikers and I went full troll and set our tents up under a bridge.  None of us could've been prepared for the fierce wind that night, as it blew some of our tents violently side to side and in some cases even dismantled them. I was lucky to have my tent stay up, but we all woke up covered with a layer of dust. We literally shook the dust off of ourselves, and like a crew of skinny coal miners, we began our day up the next ridge. By the afternoon though, it had started to drizzle a bit. I was just glad we didnt have to slog straight up mountains like we so often had to on the AT. Since the PCT is graded for horseback travel, the trail goes up and down moutains very gradually, which is great for going up but a little infuriating when it takes takes forever to get dowm. Right before I had planned to camp, I discovered a man made cave big enough for one person, so I hunkered down with a book I picked up in Julian and made it my home for the night. I just hope the hiker community doesn't start calling me bear or something, as I don't think I'll be finding more caves or growing enough body hair to fulfill the name.

After a wonderful nights rest, I awoke to snow flurries which turned into steady rain as I hiked off the ridge. I had planned on doing a short 13 mile day into Warner Springs (perspective is an amazing thing, isn't it?), and was greeted by what must've been 30 hikers crammed into their community center. Much like an army mess hall, people were sharing stories of survival, playing cards, and dressing blisters. I took this opportunity to give my feet an Epsom salt bath and disinfect them real well, to the relief of some squeamish hikers who saw my blisters. I reassured them that they don't feel as bad as they looked, and I realized that many times this hike I've faced things with a "could be worse" mentality. I guess having already done a long distance trail gives you a strong sense of perspective indeed.

At the community center, I mostly hung out with Rambo (who had thru-hiked the AT last year), Kate from Portland, and Shannon from Idaho. Rambo and I struggled to find trail names for them, instead opting for a crazy scenario in the future to present the perfect name. The 4 of us decided to rent a cabin for a night in Idyllwild, which was 2 days away and nestled up near the San Jacinto ridge. We also learned of a fire closure south of town on the ridge, and since the reroute involved mostly road walking, we decided to forgo that misery and rejoin the PCT by hiking up to the ridge out of town. All in all, we will probably end up skipping about 20 miles of trail, but we unanimously agreed that it beats road walking.

We hiked from Warner Springs to a piece of property off the grid called Mikes place, owned by a trail angel. Though Mike is only present during the weekends, we still got to spend time with his friend Josh, who grilled some chicken for us hungry hikers and let us camp in the yard. He showed us some of te classic cars that he and Mike have been trying to fix up, and I of course let him sign my hat. The next day, Rambo, Kate, Shannon and I hiked 25 miles to get to the road crossing to Idyllwild,  and we camped right next to a restaurant a little ways down the road. We planned on hitting it up in the morning to start our true zero day. We were disappointed to learn that the building didnt have a spigot, ao we rationed our water that night. On the plus side though, I realized my blisters were almost all healed up. The zero day tomorrow should bring me back to 100%.

PCT: It Begins

85 degrees in Campo tomorrow. That's what trail angel Bob Reiss ominously kept telling me as he brought me from the San Diego airport to his house just outside the city. Arriving at his house, I met four other hikers meticulously reconfiguring and weighing their packs in nervous anticipation. I remembered the feeling as I got close to starting the AT, but as a seasoned backpacker, I felt confident in my setup. After a restless night of sleep, a 4:30 AM departure, and an hour and a half drive to the southern terminus near Campo, CA, we took giddy photos of ourselves at the famous monument and took our first steps on PCT. But first, I had Bob sign my large sun hat, which I hope to have covered with trail angel signatures by the end of my trip. They make these long distance trails a more pleasant and interesting experience, and I look forward to having something to remember them by.

Our first day started leisurely, with most of us hiking in a group stopping frequently for sips of water and pictures of the desert landscape. The granite rock formations and the spiky arid plants made me think of a landscape conjured up by Dr. Seuss. This start could not be more different from the AT, but I enjoyed it just as much. As it got close to noon, most of us hikers were eager to find some shade and relax until it got cooler, a practice which is very common on the PCT during hot weather days. Though it gets pretty hot in the sun, there is almost always a gentle cool breeze, which still made me fortunate to be in the desert rather than a hot and humid environment. Our first day ended after 20 miles at Lake Morena Campground, which had a general store nearby where we could top off much needed electrolytes with ice cold gatorade. We sat for a while talking to a guy who was showing off some skin from a rattlesnake he caught earlier that day and listening to stories of his father's small roles in a couple of western movies and hearing him brashly joke with the waitstaff and...................

Blisters. Making feet painfully tender to walk on, and agonizing to put into shoes  before the ibuprofen and morning adrenalin kick in. I personally didn't have much problems with blisters on the AT, but the heat and penetrating sand of the PCT destroyed my feet after day one. I'm wearing the same shoes I did on the AT because they fit my feet well, but there was no way I could prepare my feet for the heat and sand. For a couple of days, it was very frustrating to have the motivation and stamina to hike, only to have my blisters be the limiting factor. The most I could do was pop them in as sterile of a manner as possible, wrap them in tape, soak my feet in Epsom salt baths, and prevent infection with antibacterial cream and prayer.

The third day brought my first PCT trail magic of pb&j sandwiches and cold fresh fruit, which really hit the spot in the desert. At the end of the day, I found a camping spot next to a water tank meant for hikers as well as horses, and I met two Canadian girls seeing how far they could get, a guy with a smooth baritone voice appropriately named Radio, a guy who hiked the AT last year named Rambo, a girl carrying a substantial bottle of hot sauce, and many other characters. We watched the sun set over the wide open pasture, and got up early the next morning to get into the town of Julian before it got too hot. A couple of miles along the scrubby desert floor and thoughts of cold lemonade got me to the road crossing, where I got a hitch from someone who regularly fills the water cache near the road. Since he does such an important service to hikers, I gladly let him sign my hat.

As I got into Julian, I followed the stench of other hikers and the aroma of freshly cooked burgers to an establishment called Carmans. With a petite figure and motherly demeanor, the owner welcomes hikers to hang out on the porch of her restaurant which is currently being renovated. I had a great time talking with her and getting to know more hikers. I noticed that many pct hikers are from the west coast and that this is their first long distance hike, so the reality of me having already done the AT attracted some attention. From how I got my trail name to how the two trails compare and contrast, I enjoyed answering questions and figuring out potential trail names for some fresh thru-hikers. I've noticed that the age range of people on the PCT is very similar to that of the AT, but regardless of age, people tend to have around the same quality of gear. Much different than seeing some people begin the AT with 50+lb packs. But perhaps the pct has a smallet margin of error.....

Maine to Finish

My time in Maine ended the same way it began. Tears were shed, the dazzling scenery which we found ourselves in momentarily eclipsed our pain, and I wondered if this really was the end while not giving much thought to what was after. The state of Maine begins with the revered-but-often-feared Mahoosuc Range, bombarding the thru-hiker with deceptively abrupt ups and downs, rocky terrain which made our walking style resemble an awkward prom dance, and steep pitches that demanded the use of our arms as much as our trail-worn legs. Every mile of this stretch seemed to require the effort of 2 or even 3 miles found in the south, shortening our pace to no more than 10 miles a day (a far cry from the 20 mile days earlier on in the trip). The epicenter known as the Mahoosuc Notch, where the trail snakes through a pit of car-sized boulders, is widely regarded as "the most difficult or fun mile of the AT". Right afterwards, the Mahoosuc Arm sends hikers about 1600 feet up root ladders and eventually bare rock in less than a mile.

But big effort reaps big reward: much of this section is above treeline, and we got sweeping views in all directions, starting from the alpine meadows around us to the gnarly spruces on the perimeter all the way to the morning sun-tinted mountains on the horizon. From a makeshift campsite right on the New Hampshire-Maine border (yesterday's goal was to do 17 miles into Maine, and I was far too tired to find a real campsite after the border), Seinfeld had entered hiker euphoria: dense fairy tale-like forest on each side which made the trail feel like a magical and undeserved safe haven, sharp peaks rising like church steeples and valleys like nestled town squares to contrast, and a total lack of human influence all around. It was only me and the mountains. Like a fly fixated on top of a roaming elephant, my surroundings seemed to propel me forward as to reward me for my toil. Me and the wilderness were at a stalemate, and with each step I earned its worth, a fair trade leading to ultimate satisfaction. The only other comparison would be leading traffic on Broadway and timing the lights perfectly. For the first time on my trip, the goal of finishing (even on the day's level) was irrelevant, as each mountain and meadow was a gift that never spoiled or became dull before the next one arrived. It was excruciating, numbing, stunningly beautiful--it was and is the purest reason why I hike.

After finishing the Mahoosucs, me and some other hikers I had hiked with before decided to hitch into town and resupply. There we met a rafting instructor named Spencer, who chatted with us about hiking in Maine and invited us to his lake house for a barbecue. We talked and played with his cats on the dock that night, illuminated by the full moon. The next day, I hiked up Baldpate mountain, which had smooth, exposed rock on and around the summit, which would've been very treacherous in rain. Even with good weather, going down required full trust in my shoes' tread. A couple miles after the descent, rain looked like it make an appearance, but I was able to wait it out underneath a rock outcropping that I found right off trail at the perfect moment. I met a section hiker named Caption, who has somehow jumped the learning curve and fits in well with thru-hikers. We heard about an adventurous and hospitable husband and wife in the next town called Rangeley who has let hikers stay at their place, so we booked it only to find out that they were out of town that day. And to make matters worse, it started raining again. Only, this was the most furious storm on the entire trip and possibly in my whole life. The almost constant claps of thunder left our ears ringing while traffic and pretty much the town in general came to a halt. All of the streets turned into rivers, and the wind tore off and mangled branches, shingles, flags, and even some powerlines. Trying to talk over the sound of rain pounding on an ice cream parlor's tin roof was impossible as we repeatedly committed to and chickened out on dashing to different hotels in town. I don't know how often storms like these pass through Maine, but I can honestly say that it was the closest thing I've ever experienced to a natural disaster (after a quick google search, this storm even made national news, I'm not kidding. Side note--I was in Michigan during Hurricane Sandy). Thankfully, none of our friends on trail were hurt, but it was a key conversation point from here on out in the hiker community.

Eventually, we found 2 bunks at an overpriced hostel (sort of undermining my mental budget), but we were glad to be in in enclosed space for the night. The next day, I spent most of the day relaxing and then headed up the Saddleback ridge in the incredible evening light, having the mountain all to myself. The next day was a severely over-ambitious 22 miles of trail and a proverbial cliff that shouldn't have been the trail to get to the next road crossing, where I hitched for a while sore as hell. After almost a hour and a half of standing with my thumb out (a personal record, whoopee), a real estate agent from southern NH picked me up and started asking me questions about the trail. We got along really well, and he invited me to his cabin which he was renovating for his family. There, we barbecued, watched for moose, and told funny jokes around a bonfire. The following day, I traversed the sharp ridge of the Bigelows and munched on blue berries the way down. I met a flip-flopper named Veggie Viking, called so because he looks like a viking but is somehow incongruously a vegetarian. We got along due to our West Michigan connection. While we were settling in at a shelter, a SOBO told us about some trail magic of cold sandwiches at the next road crossing about a mile away, so I decided to push farther to check it out. Unfortunately, there was no trail magic (I guess they didn't want to risk leaving spoiled sandwiches out for long), and I really could've used it due to not having much buffer food on me (wasn't keen on spending even more money in Rangeley).

At the next shelter though, and what I can only assume to be a blessing directed by God, was a plastic crate full of cereal bars and brownies! It really helped take the stress out of possibly not having enough food. I had a great rest of the day on dramatically flatter terrain, and I caught up with some friends that I hiked with back in NH. It was great to hike with them again, but they were moving fast according to one guys' schedule to start college soon after the trip. We got to town of Monson and parted ways, but I decided to wait up for another friend of mine, so I did work-for-stay at Shaw's Hostel recently bought by a younger couple named Poet and Hippie Chick. It was probably my favorite hostel on the entire trail, and I thoroughly enjoyed staying there and getting to know the owners. Me and other hikers watched movies including the Wizard of Oz (inevitably responsible for my mental soundtrack the rest of the trip).

I started the 100 Mile Wilderness later that day, which is considered to be the most remote section of the entire AT. A sigh at each end warns hikers and strongly advises them to pack 10 days of food, even though about 4 dirt roads and a rail line slice through the so-called wilderness (allowing food drop options for slow-moving hikers who don't want to carry 20 lbs of food). The first road had a sign pointing to trail magic put on by two older guys at a cabin, which was done in memory of a friend who recently passed away. They had a great life story, and I was able to learn some valuable history of Maine. The next day, I was able to explore a lake using a canoe left on shore for hikers to use, and I randomly saw a guy named Finn who I hiked a while with near the beginning of the trip, but then zoomed ahead. It was great to catch up, and we took a blue blaze to see "The Grand Canyon of the East" called the Gulf Hagas. The sheer cliffs and waterfalls were incredible, and we were caught off guard by day hikers also enjoying the scene (so much for wilderness). The next day I had my first view of Katahdin (aka, the end of the trail!) from White Cap Mountain, and I saw my first moose along with her calf from across a lake. I quietly observed for a while, and even tried out some moose calls.

The following day, I met up with two other friends that I haven't seen in a while and met some new ones, and we finished out the 100 mile wilderness. The last night, we camped by a lake and watched leaches and crawfish fight among the rocks, betting little morsels of food and cheering on our respective choices. Right before entering Baxter State Park (where Katahdin is located), we stopped at a camp store at Abol Bridge and gorged on food for the last time (historic because Henry David Throreau and his party set up base camp there on while ascending Katahdin in the early 1800's). Entering the park signified the last of many things, which we named off in solemn memorial. After signing in at the ranger station and securing our day permits for our big ascent tomorrow, we settled in at the last lean-to and and reminisced over our trips that were about to end. It was certainly an emotional evening followed by a restless night not much different from Christmas Eve.

To be honest, my emotional moment came when I got up before dawn and put my hiking shoes on for the last time. I knew that after today, it just wouldn't be the same. I was ready to finish up the trip of a lifetime and finally see my friends from back home, but I would be lying if I said that I was ready for it all to be over.  Breaking treeline fairy early and scrambling over boulders to the top, we came upon the sign marking the end of the Appalachian Trail atop Katahdin. We kept a brisk pace on the ascent and made it up in about two hours, having the summit completely to ourselves. Each of us got pictures standing above and next to the sign, letting out many a victory yell. Everyone's emotions were completely real, because how could you keep on a mask after discovering yourself after five months in the woods? It reinforced the fact that despite very different backgrounds and upbringings, we all had one achievement in common that we would pride ourselves on for the rest of our lives. As I write this now (way overdue), I still think about the trail constantly, and only some of the experiences I have been able to put into written form and shared through stories. The trail took five months pain and drudge, but I believe that the trail gave me a lifetime of self-achievement and satisfaction, and I cannot thank you all enough for your encouragement before, during, and after my experience. Though the trip is over, I can say with full honesty that my thirst for adventure is not. With that, it has been a pleasure writing this blog for all of you, and as my namesake would say--you've been a great audience.

Hiker vs. The Whites: An Ultimate Showdown

As I began the second-to-last state of my trip, I felt like an experienced hiker who has seen it all -- from the lofty ridgelines of North Carolina to the hidden valleys of southern New England, the incessantly rocky to the straight-up muddy, the biting cold to the sweltering heat. Though I've heard many accounts of the White Mountains of New Hampshire being steeper and rougher than anything I've experienced thus far, I received the most ominous warnings from southbounders who had just gotten out of the Whites, having completed about 400 miles of the trail. Though novices in our book, many greeted us with a pompous sense of achievement hidden behind cautionary statements such as, "Just wait 'til the Whites, you don't even know." Obviously, many northbounders gained a sort of resentment toward the nerve of southbounders calling us the novices, but I decided to take the Whites as they came.

Before I even got to them though, I had to cross the western portion of New Hampshire, and I found myself on that first chilly New England evening sitting on the porch of 90-year-old Bill Ackerly's house munching on an even chillier ice cream bar. This lifelong woodsman who had built his house from scratch passes the time offering each thru-hiker he meets an ice cream bar, followed by a sharing of his wisdom and a very unevenly matched game of croquet. Having experienced so many years of life, he was a joy getting to know, and his sense of humor was highlighted by a sign placed on the trail to reel in hikers, parodying the song "My milkshakes bring all the boys to the yard." He even offered me to join him in singing the original version, which I couldn't resist! As nobos and sobos alike set tents up in his yard, the night was capped by even more singing, which turned into a jam session led by a very musical sobo picking at his very weathered and well-used guitar, which I feebly tried to accompany with my humble ukulele.

The next day brought me up Smarts Mountain, which was topped with a dilapidated fire tower covered in signs warning hikers of a hefty fee if caught up there. As this would be my first proper view of New Hampshire and the Whites and the fact that I couldn't waste such a beautifully clear day, I took my chances and was rewarded with spectacular views of the easy mountains I had done previously in Vermont and the monsters that awaited me ahead. Hearing footsteps coming from below, I promptly headed down only to find a fellow thru-hiker who wasn't afraid of fines either, so he checked out the tower as I played "watch for the ranger." I ended the day picking my weight in blueberries over the bald summit of Mt Cube and camping at a maple sugar farm that according to my guide book "sometimes offers more." Excited over the vague prospect of free maple sugar products and wanting to wait out some rain, I gave myself a slower morning but ultimately didn't receive more, but I was still glad to miss much of the rain. From there, I made a short day to Hiker's Welcome Hostel in the not-so-much-a-town of Glencliff, NH. Being the first decent place to stay after the Whites for sobos and an ideal spot for nobos to wait out any bad weather before heading in, it was a great hangout spot with a staggering collection of DVD's, which me and some other nobos took advantage of in order to start the Whites in better weather the next day.

Mt. Moosilauke, the first ascent of the Whites for nobos, required nearly 4000 feet of continuous elevation gain, which wasn't as hard as I expected due to a steady rise as well as smaller rocks dominating the terrain. As the summit opened up above treeline, layers upon layers of mountains stretched out before me emitting an eerie mist speared by persistent beams of sunlight under a mostly cloudy sky. I had always traditionally preferred to be on top of mountains during clear days, but I was glad to have received a majestically threatening view that morning. However, as I headed down, the rain returned and I finally felt like I was thrown into the ring with my first formidable opponent of the Whites. What laid before me--or should I say straight below me--was a trail so steep and wet that descending seemed to feel like a string of reluctant suicide attempts. I lowered myself down cliff after cliff, occasionally having to slide down and put my trust in whatever was waiting for me at the bottom. Fortunately, wooden blocks had been secured to the bedrock of some of the most extreme sections, but I made it down with the slowest pace I think I've ever had on my entire trip--about 2 miles in 3 hours! Waiting at the bottom of the mountain was an older Estonian woman by the name of Mary (she thinks that trail names are a cop-out for owning your thru-hike). Possessing an unsettlingly total lack of fear, she told me of how she had run out of daylight on Moosilauke's summit, set up camp during last night's rain, and didn't sleep because she had to hold her tent town all night to keep it from flying away in the high altitude winds! As if I needed any more reminders to take the Whites seriously...

As more nobos made it down, some of us decided to slackpack the next day's section by staying in the nearby town of North Woodstock, hitching back to the trail, hiking 17 miles, and hitching back into town afterwards to our not-at-all-missed packs. It went down without a hitch (actually, it did, and a couple of them even got one from the local police sheriff!), and we braved the thigh-deep mud (my friend Yankee tested that by slipping off a bog bridge) and the impossibly steep rock scrambles to recuperate in the pool at our motel. Despite the following day calling for thunderstorms, I headed up by myself to Franconia ridge and was rewarded with incredibly clear views (showing just how accurate weather reports can be in the Whites), then over to Mt Garfield where I braved another trail/stream down to Galehead Hut. There are eight "high-elevation" huts run by the Appalachian Mountain Club all located near the Appalachian Trail through the Whites (limited amounts of thru-hikers each evening are allowed to do work-for-stay in order to avoid having to pay $150 dollars for rugged luxury). However, this is where the similarities of these two entities abruptly end. Despite the hut's and the AMC's mission to serve hikers, we thru-hikers generally felt pushed to the side due mainly in part to our nerve of not going through the Whites with loads of money. Finding shelters or even camping without fees was very challenging, and the AT was consistently unmaintained and poorly marked in comparison to most other trails we saw.....but at least the huts serve great homemade bread.

The next day, I had wonderful views from South Twin Mountain and headed over the broad alpine summit of Mt. Guyot, which had a very Scottish feel. From there, it was a very gradual and easy trail to Crawford Notch, right before the Presidential Range. Finding free camping was pretty hard, but I found a stately pine grove right near a river. The next day was a steep and exposed ascent up Webster Cliffs, and I made it a short day to Mizpah Springs Hut to account for bad weather they were calling for the following day (pushing on meant I'd have to go over Mt. Washington in the ugliness, which is not worth the risk, in my opinion). The next day, I slogged through cold wind and rain to the base of Washington at Lake of the Clouds Hut at 5000 feet, where I played board games and saw friends that I had not seen in a while. The next morning cleared up, and I summited Washington with incredible views to the west and a sea of clouds stretching infinitely to the east. The rest of the Presidentials were foggy unfortunately, but we made it Pinkham Notch where we got picked up by the Twelve Tribes community to stay at their hostel near Gorham (I have not converted, I swear). The next day, we slackpacked an absurdly hard 21 miles over the Wildcat and Carter ranges, where we got caught in a 15 minute torrential rainstorm (if anyone is wondering why I haven't connected with them in a while, my phone only has about 30 minutes of battery life thanks to said storm, oh well) and a valley with an incredible echo. After playing in nature's echo chamber for a while, we rolled into the parking lot right before dark. And that was when we conquered the Whites. Surely it will get easier from here, right? RIGHT?!

A Daydream on Elm Street

As I woke up to a misty morning on my last day in Vermont, I appropriately celebrated my four-month anniversary of being on the trail by hiking until my next meal stop. Everything from navigating tricky descents to setting up and taking down camp had become clockwork to me, and as I crossed a bridge into West Hartford, I was called over to a house owned by a trail angel and talked to her about the trail over freshly brewed Green Mountain Coffee. I had told her about my "trailiversary", and she congratulated me and said that I was nearing the end of my journey. Now, I always knew that it would eventually end, but the fact that it had started to become recognized by others made me resent the fact that the culture and spontaneity would end as well. Most people look at the guy on the street corner holding the sign that says "The End Is Near" with disgust, but that is because they can't fathom or simply choose not to entertain the thought. As I had neither luxury to distract myself with, I found myself running a race that I secretly didn't want to finish. I'm confident that my body will cross the finish line, but I couldn't say the same about my mind. Anyone who has ran a race knows that besides physical prowess, one thing that will get you to the finish line is encouragement from the sidelines, and my mind was propelled to match my stride on Elm Street coming into Norwich, overlooking the state of New Hampshire. Multiple driveways had trail magic set up near where it met the street, and I found myself bolting with power and a new found mental fortitude into the second to last state of my trip.

A couple of weeks ago, I teamed up with Yankee (who I had met right before the Smokies), Roadrunner (an army veteran/nurse I became acquainted with before the Shenandoahs), and Fireman (who I had met on the spot) to hike through Massachusetts. We went over Mt. Greylock (the highest point in the state) in excellent weather, and were treated on the other side to burgers and hot dogs cooked by visiting friends of Yankee. The next day for the Fourth of July, we were picked up by Fireman's mom (affectionately called "Firemom") and were brought to their house in central MA to enjoy smoked meats and craft beers while we listened to patriotic songs and played a trail version of "Horse" (all the while trying to dribble quietly).

As we crossed into Vermont the next day, we received many warnings concerning the muddy trails (characterizing the state's trail name "Vermud") and were made aware that the state just had it's rainiest June in 130 years. We took the mud as well as the occasional moments of rain we had in the state with stride, but one thing that annoyed me were all of the blown-down trees. Normally on the trail, blowdowns are cleared with the help of a chainsaw relatively quickly, but due to a noise regulation in Green Mountain National Forest as well as a possible lack of funding, the trail in Vermont is littered with fallen trees, making me wonder sometimes if there had even been a trail at all. It was very frustrating slowing my pace down to get over the trees and getting myself wet and dirty to nearly straddle over the larger ones. The trail in Vermont eventually earned my personal slogan, "the prettiest bushwhack you'll ever take."

The second day in Vermont, Yankee and I went into the town of Bennington, where we immediately stopped at a Stewart's Shop for snacks. Quintessential to the Adirondacks, I was feeling more in my element along with the scenery more and more everyday. From there, our group went up to the summit of Glastenbury Peak, where we set up camp and caught the sunset from the top of the firetower. The next day, we climbed into the clouds up to the top of Stratton Mountain and enjoyed wild strawberries on the way down.

As I needed to get to Killington (about fifty miles ahead) before the weekend to pick up a dropbox I had sent to the post office, I went ahead of the group the next day to a shelter, where some of us made a roaring bonfire. It was there I invented a new trail recipe called the "quesadilla roll", which involves making a quesadilla with a choice of fixings, wrapping it around a stick, securing it with a skewer, and roasting it over a fire. Needless to say, it went over very well among the group of hungry hikers. From there, I headed to the summit lodge on Killington Peak and made the hills come alive with a beer crafted by the Von Trapp Family Lodge in Stowe. From there, I heard about a race event happening at the base of the mountain the next day, so I stayed in the town of Killington to watch that and meet awesome people.

The following day, I learned that the rest of the group was at a work-for-stay hostel in Rutland (10 miles west), so I went over to meet them and help pick raspberries in exchange for a bunk and amazing wholesome food from the adjoining Yellow Deli. The whole establishment was run by the Twelve Tribes Community, and I experienced the same wonderful hospitality that I did at their farm near Harper's Ferry, West Virginia. Our last day there, we decided to slackpack 24 miles from Killington with the help of the excellent area bus system. The plan was to hitch back to Killington at the end of the day to take the bus back to Rutland, but we found it very difficult as we had unknowingly ended at a road crossing outside a very ritzy, resort-like town called Woodstock. Daylight was dwindling and spirits were low due to no cell service to call a shuttle with, but we eventually were able to find hitches and got back to Rutland where we gorged on long-anticipated frosties from Wendy's.

We somehow left the hospitable grasp of the Hostel at Yellow Deli and had an easier time getting back to Woodstock the next day (this time using a sign decorated to channel the iconic music festival, which may have helped our chances). What awaited us was elevation gradient reminiscent of the roller coaster at the end of Virginia, and we slogged into the shelter near the end of Vermont completely wiped out. As I write this now in the library of Hanover, NH, I will soon be exploring the pretty downtown and the beautiful campus of Dartmouth College. And this is only the beginning of New Hampshire.

A Revival Of Sorts

They say that home is where the heart is, and I received a much needed boost of morale and motivation as I crossed into my home state of New Jersey. The notoriously jagged and unstable rocks were over (many thru-hikers assumed that the rocks would be just as bad in Jersey, but I assured them that they were in for a much more enjoyable time), I was in familiar territory, and I would soon be meeting up with friends and family to catch up and tell about my adventures.

Before saying farewell to my aunt from Allentown, PA and slackpacking up the steep pile of boulders called the Superfund Site, we went to the Palmerton Hotel for all-you-can-eat wings. Going up the superfund was superfun (I'm probably the thousandth thru-hiker to crack that joke, but a comedian such as myself has to steal jokes sometimes), but I later could feel the wings in my stomach sitting there like one of the many boulders. And the fact that synthesizing protein apparently takes more water than usual (which I found out after carefully gauging how much water I'd need for my slackpack) left me very thirsty at the reuniting of me and my pack. The next day, I headed into the town of Delaware Water Gap, PA where we celebrated the end of "Rocksylvania" and struggled to sleep in a hot but very convenient hostel at Church Of The Mountain. The following day, I crossed into Jersey cheering on the walkway adjacent to I-80 like a maniac and enjoyed open ridgelines and wild blueberries.

Slackpacking two times more, cheering on Scott Jurek as he breezed on by (a world-class ultra runner currently attempting to break the speed record for completing the AT), and getting caught in a torrential but exciting storm cell highlighted my time hiking near home in NJ and NY. As New York progressed and gave way to Connecticut though, many hikers and I noticed that the terrain became abruptly steep (often requiring scrambling with the hands) and littered with roots. Views also became more sparse, and I began to notice that all of the trail magic coolers left at road crossings were empty, making for a disheartening sight. What I attributed to bad luck became solved when I caught up to a hiker named Hawkeye, who constantly begs other hikers for food and money (all the while having plenty of money to somehow sustain his alcoholism) and has been known to steal food and treats meant for sharing. Now I don't usually like to give a negative shout out to a current thru-hiker, but as I've said many times before, the Appalachian Trail is a community, and rules of etiquette must be followed. It was disappointing to have this happen, but I hope that he learns his lesson.

Besides never receiving the moral boost that I thought I'd get from trail magic coolers, the steep terrain, and lack of views, rain had come recently. The rain doesn't always bother me, but with other factors involved, it can be a real bummer on a thru-hike. And all of these factors piling up honestly made me want to call it quits, which was a first for me. I almost felt guilty, because I have made it through lots of other storms, braved the rocks of Pennsylvania, and sweated and swatted my way through hot and buggy days. But this was the first time that getting up in the morning and bracing myself to hike felt like a chore, and I desperately hoped for the sake of my hike that at least one of the negative factors would disappear.

Sure enough though, another boost of morale came as I stumbled across a hiker feed put on by ALDHA (the Appalachian Long Distance Hiker's Association) later on in Connecticut, and I reunited with familiar faces that I thought I'd never see again. Also, earlier today, I crossed into Massachusetts, where I was greeted by awesome views and scenery reminiscent of the Adirondacks. For me, this was a sign that things are only going to get better, and I had a sort or revival that very much saved my thru-hike. I am currently in the town of Great Barrington, MA and am about to explore the town. I'm excited for 4th of July and the rest of Massachusetts!

Link for my Paterson fundraiser

So I realized that people without facebook may want to donate to Paterson, so here's the link. Give as you feel led: http://www.gofundme.com/n6fotk

The Land In Between

Since I last left you all, I have finished the last 50 miles of Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, and most of Pennsylvania. To put it simply, the last of Virginia was up and down, West Virginia was historical, Maryland was wet, and Pennsylvania has been the land in between. I call it that because some guy who made the trail famous but didn't even finish half of it (In case you're wondering, it's the author of "A Walk In The Woods" Bill Bryson; many thru-hikers are coincidentally annoyed by this fact) described Pennsylvania as "a connection between the South and the North." Despite the man's lack of genuineness when it comes to thru-hiking, I must agree that Pennsylvania's terrain has been particularly unforgiving and the state has earned a reputation as one to buckle down and get through. Not to say there aren't any rewarding parts, but I have found it akin to taking the SAT's: an essential step to achieving a goal, but definitely not an enjoyable one.

Right after Front Royal, VA, I hit a 13 mile stretch of abrupt ups and downs aptly named the rollercoaster. Though each hill only had an elevation gain and loss of less than 500 feet, the fatigue of constantly ascending and descending made this one of the most challenging parts of the trail so far. The sweat coming off my face literally resembled waterfalls, as I constantly wiped my face just to be able to see and breathe. I'm pretty sure I went through 5 liters of water that day. Thankfully, I was able to wash off and unwind at Bear's Den Hostel, which offered a hiker special of a bunk, load of laundry, pizza, and pint of ice cream for very cheap. We spent that evening trying to replenish lost calories and watch old trail documentaries featuring hikers with very outdated gear. It made me think how much harder climbing the rollercoaster must've been with heavier gear and how grateful I am for the companies who make my lightweight gear.

The next day, I made my way to Harper's Ferry, where the Appalachian Trail Conference headquarters is located. They have a small museum and bookstore, along with the draw that is the scrapbook of all thru-hikers each year who stop by to get their picture taken at the psychological halfway point. Because I underestimated how much time it would take for me to get there before they closed, I found myself hurrying like a stressed out guy in the real world. I ended up going so fast that I accidentally missed where the trail went straight after the bridge crossing the Shenandoah River and instead took a path straight to the historic downtown (a side-trail leading to the headquarters can be found on the AT before that). I saw that something wasn't right when I came across historic buildings and a National Park Service info building, and by that time I had lost all hope of making the headquarters on time due to overshooting it. Thankfully though, a ranger was able to give me a ride up with 15 minutes to spare, and I took my ceremonial picture posing with the ukulele.

Because that particular evening posed a threat of thunderstorms, I wanted to find a place that offered work-for-stay rather than camp outside of town like I originally planned. I came across Stony Brook Farms in my AT guide and decided to give it a try. I got taken over to what turned out to be a Christian commune by the name of Twelve Tribes, where everybody either did farm work or made baked goods for the general store nearby. Everyone wore Mennonite-style clothing and had an abnormally patient and welcoming demeanor. There were two thru-hikers I met who came in to do work-for-stay just like I did, and when I learned that that was two weeks ago, I made sure to stand my ground and make it clear that I had to leave by late the next morning. Long story short, I met wonderful people, stayed out the rain (that definitely came down), and helped out on the farm by pulling weeds from their beet field.

From there, I headed 18 miles into Maryland where I set my tent up and met my aunt for dinner, which was nice (also because details regarding the trail that have become mundane to us thru-hikers become very interesting to someone not affiliated whom I can share them with). However, it started to rain during dinner, and I came back to my tent later that night with a puddle of water gathered on the floor. After a wet night, I was greeted by an even wetter morning, where drudgingly packed up my waterlogged sleeping bag and tent and headed to the next shelter to forget the day's existence. The next day, however, proved to be good cruising weather (perfect temperature, no harsh sunlight, no bugs), and I regained my pace by doing 30 miles into Pennsylvania.

During my second day in PA, I took part in a thru-hiker tradition called the "Half Gallon Challenge", where one devours a whole half gallon of ice cream from the general store at Pine Grove Furnace State Park. It was a difficult challenge that definitely whetted my appetite for ice cream for quite some time. The next day, I headed into the town of Boiling Springs, where I reunited with a group of people I hiked with for a while earlier named Team Vortex (called so because they "vortex" each other into staying in town longer due to peer pressure). While they got a traditionally late start in town, I decided to slackpack to the next town called Duncannon with the help of Trail Angel Mary, who had a very interesting life story and who gave her heart and soul to making the hiker community a better place. In exchange, I housesat for her while she went east for a pool tournament, and I got to wait for Team Vortex to catch up. The next day, we had plans to head out, but we heard that a severe thunderstorm was supposed to come through, so we decided to wait it out at a house owned by an older couple who caters to thru-hikers. We spent the evening playing our favorite card game called gumball, and they let us stay in the upper level of their garage, which we were very grateful for.

Right after Duncannon is where the rocks of PA started to become very annoying and unforgiving. Not only did they force our feet into weird angles, but some were sharp against our already tender feet and others were unstable, causing us to almost lose our balance on each and every step. The heat and humidity during the last couple of days had also been above average, putting us in a cloud of delirium regardless of our water intake. And on top of all that, a certain kind of aggressive, persistent bug became part of our lives, constantly threatening to fly into our eyes and ears. Taking into account our foot pain, bug bites, and heat chafing, I honestly can't remember a time in the past couple of days where I wasn't in pain. I feel like PA has taught me an important lesson--that despite my feeling strong and unstoppable, I have a limit that I'll eventually hit and will simply have to deal with. All of these recent factors made hiking very hard through eastern PA, and it would easily be the worst part of my trip so far--if it weren't for the trail magic. That's right, I've found the trail magic in this area to be extraordinary with their friendliness and selection of items. It's almost like people from eastern PA are trying to make up for a bad reputation or something....

On the bright side, I only have two days left until I enter New Jersey, which I'm very excited about. I'm now spending the night with an aunt in Allentown, PA, and will be enjoying some all-you-can-eat wings tomorrow before hitting trail. I love experiencing new places and things, but I'm definitely looking forward to the familiarity of Jersey.