I looked down at the new compression sleeves that gently hugged my calves, wondering whether they'd be the medicine for my slowly improving shin splint in one leg and the newly aching Achilles in the other. When I looked up, the familiar and ever-increasing rock of the Sierra seemed to be slowly surrounding me, a creeping army of stone.
Pacific Crest Trail 2016
Daily dispatches and photos from the Pacific Crest Trail, a 2654-mile footpath running from Mexico to Canada through California, Oregon, and Washington.
Did I Say it was Hot?
Strange. I don't recall saying it....then again, a lot has changed in the last 48 hours. From sweating in the sun of Kennedy Meadows to looking like it might possibly snow tonight in a mere 48 miles of trail. At 11,000 feet, none of this is a terrible surprise, but it's hard to comprehend such drastically different conditions in such a short span of time. A trail of extremes, yet again.
Winter Wonderland
When I turned my headlamp on at 1am and saw a thin blanket of snow on the ground, I knew it was going to be an interesting day. Minutes after turning in last night, the thunder and lightning show reached a fever pitch as hail began pelting my tent. The rest of the night passed by with lulls and snowflakes in equal measure.
Stone and Sky
Now this is the Sierra I remember. Gone were the storm clouds and back was the sapphire blue sky that sets the backdrop for some of the world's most dramatic mountain landscapes. Today would mark the trail's first major pass so we decided to sleep in, start a bit later than usual, and keep a leisurely pace through the morning to allow the snow up on the pass to melt and soften as much as possible.
Exit Stage Right
A day that begins with the knowledge that a shower and a limitless supply of calories waits at the end of the rainbow is always a good day. Another cold night had me in all my layers again, and the morning brought a fresh veneer of condensation on all of my gear.
Zero #6
Days off in town are a strange breed. Without fail, I imagine them to be as relaxed and restful as can be, sort of like my new friend Morgan here, the family pug at the Courthouse Motel where Proton, Sweet Pea, Beardoh, Dreamcatcher and I are staying.
Double Pass
It's come to this. Model parents, idyllic childhood, college education, advanced degree, solid career. And yet there I was, lying in a gutter while trying to hitch a ride at 6:30 in the morning while Proton slept against a fence. Quite the downfall.
Water Water Everywhere
Today was a very simple story of one thing, a simultaneous protagonist and antagonist: water. On the one hand, its beauty and abundance are part of what make the Sierra such a pleasure to hike through. On the other, the spring snowmelt has swollen even seasonal streams into bone chillingly cold shin-deep fords.
Memory
Every break spot. Every campsite. Every creekside where we stopped for water and every place we stood to admire the view. I remember them all with such vividness and clarity that it's as if my hike of the JMT with my best friend last year had happened just moments ago. Even in memory, Emily surrounds me.
Fire and Ice
The morning air was dead calm as I climbed through fields of sun-cupped snow. When I caught up with Beardoh and Sweet Pea, we stopped and listened to an eerie silence--no wind, no voices, no chirping birds. No sound, only light.
Right This Way, Ms. Mosquito
The peaceful morning stroll alongside the roar of Evolution Creek was quickly replaced by an unrelenting tide of tiny intruders out for blood. The southbounders passing us with headnets yesterday were our first clue that it had come time for every hiker's favorite part of summer: bug season. At a break before the initial ascent up to Selden Pass, the mosquitoes were voracious…
Boat Ride
Today was a short story of a near-o to the shore of Lake Edison, where we caught a "ferry" in a small fishing boat to Vermilion Valley "Resort" across the lake.
Childhood
The ride back across the lake was a 15-minute flood of memory. Between the smell of the two-stroke motor and the mirror flat water, it was impossible for my mind not to drift back through a kaleidoscope of childhood memories on our boat. Staring off into the mountains that began to grow larger at the far end of the lake, I felt the pull of gravity on my eyelids…
Mammoth Lakes
Fifteen miles feels considerably shorter when visions of hamburgers dance in your head. Sleeping next to an alpine lake at over 10,000 feet, no one was surprised that a blanket of cold had settled in to replace the comfortably warm evening of the night before.
Zero #7
Whenever I'm cramming in the usual town chores that invariably consume a surprisingly large amount of a day off, it's a brief opportunity that grants just enough physical and mental distance from the trail itself to reflect on this journey as it unfolds. Beneath the beauty that lives on the surface of nearly every footstep, my mind sometimes stumbles upon even more fulfilling ways of seeing into the prism of the trail experience.
John Muir Trail
The 7:15am bus from the village in Mammoth Lakes whisked us directly back up the mountain to Red's Meadow where we sat enjoying a cup of coffee in the warmth of the morning sun before starting down the trail just after 9:00. Not five minutes later, a sign displayed a dizzying amount of information...
Range of Light
Some days, you simply don't have it and today was one of those days. My legs called in sick to work and that makes the going pretty tough when you hike for a living. Fortunately, only one final pass and 17 miles separated us from Tuolumne Meadows and Yosemite National Park.
Christmas in June
A mid-year Christmas occurred on the side of the road this morning, just after 9am outside the Tuolumne Meadows post office. When I showed my ID, the man behind the counter was happy to unload the five boxes with the same unintelligible last name written on them.
Rugged
Well, that hurt. Today marked a significant change in the character of the trail. What had been consistently predictable for nearly every step of the first 950 miles--steady, moderate grade with good footing--turned into something very different, something more closely resembling the beast of the east--the Appalachian Trail…
White Flag
It was punishment for something, I realize that now. I don't know exactly what past slight or transgression, of course, but I clearly must've deserved this. What we thought had been vicious mosquitoes turned out to be merely the undercard for the main event today. Even while hiking, there would be a dozen on my kneecap alone.
Volcano Snow
I wasn't sure what was happening but I was certain that something was wrong with my eyesight. I had barely rubbed the sleep from my eyes before putting in my contact lenses and crawling from my tent when the world began to swing from sharp to blurry and back with each blink. Convincing myself that this was temporary, I started down the trail in a cloud of mosquitoes…
Happy Canada Day
The calendar turned a new page today into the month of July, marking yet another small milestone and reminding me of all the little ways in which thru-hikers both mark progress and also motivate themselves to continue pushing down the trail: every 100 miles, 1/4 of the way, 1/3 of the way, half way there, the next town stop, a new calendar month, every trail month, a new state…
Crumbled Crags
I pondered this sentiment as I began to take my first steps of the morning, thinking of how one of history's most famous mountaineers had redefined what it means to triumph, to succeed in any wilderness endeavor. Far from a rousing barroom tale of adrenaline-filled daring, each success is less a story about the outward achievement and more about the inner struggle…
Ice Chutes of Certain Death
There's a social phenomena that occurs on every long distance trail with a decent amount of foot traffic, and though it's referred to by many names my personal favorite is "the vortex of fear." In a sense, it is one giant version of the telephone game where news of conditions, weather, or terrain further up the trail becomes filtered through the minds and perspectives of dozens, if not hundreds, of hikers before making its way to your ear.
Anticipation
Like a kid on Christmas Eve, my mind was distracted all day today with thoughts not of the present but of the very near future. Tomorrow, our little hiking band rolls into South Lake Tahoe for nearly three full days of rest that each and every one of us has been looking forward to for several weeks now. But far more than that, as much as I've been satisfying an enormous part of who I am with this trail adventure…
Nearos and Zeros
An extremely brief morning of hiking was punctuated by one final surprise just as we reached the highway that would take us into South Lake Tahoe for some much anticipated time off: another sighting of Coppertone and his van of trail magic. Setup in a nearby stand of trees was his usual arrangement of camp chairs surrounding a small table.
Desolation
With Proton having left the house early this morning, Beardoh, Sweet Pea, Dreamcatcher and I enjoyed one final breakfast at the house before contacting a local trail angel named Sue for a ride back to the trail. Happening to be at the grocery store only a few minutes walk down the street, we met her in the parking lot…
Lake Tahoe Blue
Since yesterday morning, the PCT has coincided with the Tahoe Rim Trail, a loop that circumnavigates Lake Tahoe in the mountains high above. Surprisingly, there have only been pocket glimpses of the lake itself, but each time it appears its sapphire waters are unmistakable. I've resolved to dub the shade of its water "Lake Tahoe blue".
The Birth of Wildflowers
Slowly but surely these past few days, my attention has begun to shift away from the miles of stunning scenery and towards the ground that had for so long been comprised of either dusty desert or shrinking snowpack. The calendar may have fooled you into thinking it's summer, but up here spring is just beginning…
Donner Pass
Of the three historical signs I passed this morning commemorating various points of interest around the crossing of Donner Pass, not one of them mentioned the infamous and ill-fated Donner Party. And rather than rehash the gruesome story of their fate in my mind, I stood for a few moments along the now quiet Highway 40…
I Am the Buffet
By the time I awoke this morning, the chill of the air overnight had mercifully chased the hordes of mosquitoes from the air. As Beardoh, Sweet Pea and I struck out for the first miles of the morning, the trail began to tilt up out of our low lying campsite into the sunlight and the warmth of its early rays.
Food. Did I Mention Food?
The bulk of the day was spent getting into and out of the charmingly small town of Sierra City for a resupply, a couple of town meals, and whatever attempt to clean ourselves up that we could cobble together. Only a mile and a half from the PCT, it's a convenient stop in a one street town comprised of only a restaurant, a general store and grill, a church, and a post office…
The Psychology of Gear
I've wanted to write this particular post for quite awhile now, but it's never felt like quite the right time until today. As we began our traverse of the upper slopes of the Sierra Buttes, the loose broken rock uttering the occasional tinkle like shattered glass beneath my feet, my mind performed its customary morning wandering and eventually landed on a traditional hiker subject: gear.
The California Blues
Already mid-July, and I'm still in California. This is one long, though beautiful, state. With the Sierra gradually drifting behind us, the trail is inching lower and lower in elevation each day and tomorrow we'll briefly dip all the way down below 3,000 feet--an elevation the trail hasn't descended to since it followed the Los Angeles aqueduct over 700 miles ago.
The Unexpected
This is going to be a very short post as I fight the sleep that is beginning to hang on my eyelids, but the uneventful miles today quickly morphed into a most unexpected evening. Three miles before a road crossing in the late afternoon, a handwritten sign placed next to the trail described a family that was offering to host thru-hikers for the night, a mere two mile walk down the road.
Coppertone Strikes Again
Some days everything seems to go right, and this was one of those days. Yesterday's good fortune of spending the night at Nancy & Terry's cabin in the woods was perhaps the most relaxing and satisfying surprise of the entire trail thus far and the trend only continued this morning when we were greeted with coffee, pancakes, bacon and eggs for breakfast.
No Rave Here
Only a few miles today, all descending down a lengthy series of poison oak choked switchbacks into the town of Belden for a day of rest and resupply. Known for raves attended by thousands of people each summer weekend, the town was blissfully quiet and empty on this Monday morning. "Town" is a bit of a misnomer when it comes to Belden.
What Goes Down Must Come Up
The sad truth about resupply stops in town is that nothing comes for free. Sure, there's the whole looking forward to showering, doing laundry, eating, and sleeping in a bed thing, and getting there inevitably involves several thousand feet of descent from the height of the mountains.
Halfway!
For me, the anticipation of today began to build only a few days ago when I realized that nearing the 1300-mile mark also meant that the halfway point of the trail would follow close behind. It's hard to fathom, really. After all, I can no better comprehend the distance of 100 miles or 500 miles any more than I can 1,325 miles.
A Day of Firsts
The clock had not struck 6am and yet there he was, a man holding an urn of coffee and a box of donuts outside my tent. His name was Chipmunk, a local trail angel, and while he'd come by to setup some trail magic at the road crossing not 200 yards away he'd spotted our tents and walked over to give us first dibs on his breakfast goodies. Trail magic while still in my sleeping bag.