The Sierra. The range that has captured the fascination of icons like Ansel Adams and John Muir. Superlatives have been spilled over its incredible beauty, its almost idyllic climate, and the trails that beckon you to explore it ever more deeply. It may best be known as the Range of Light, but to me, it is simply the place where stone meets sky.
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Not That Patagonia
The rock strewn dirt road we’d arrived at just as dusk cast a pall of gray over the mountainside was more than just a home for the night. It was now our yellow brick road—albeit a less brightly colored one—leading us to a distant town stop that we could not see, an Oz of a far less fantastical sort.
The Trail Itself
What is at the heart of any trail experience? It’s a question I’ve had more time than most to ponder over, the luxury of a charmed life whose privilege is never forgotten. And over many years and many thousands of miles, I’ve come to the realization that the experience of a trail is not about the trail itself, not the thing physically beneath your feet. It’s about where it takes you.
The Magic of Kindness
Like a truck stuck in second gear. That's what it felt like when my feet took their first steps away from our camp this morning. The evening rains had left only to return a time or two overnight, ensuring that we'd be packing up wet tarps, at a minimum. There was no blue sky to herald the morning, only a thick cloud that we seemed to be finding our way out of little by little.
Solitude
Just as the sun began to crest the distant ridge, we were already saying our goodbyes to the Desolation Wilderness. The uncharacteristically rock-choked trail that had begun almost upon entering the wilderness yesterday continued for a few final miles as we hewed closely to the shore of Echo Lake…
The End of Newdle-palooza
Little did I know how close we were. Our hammock spot last night was a mere few hundred yards from the junction of where the Tahoe Rim Trail joins the Pacific Crest Trail for a 50-mile stretch through the mountains along the west side of Lake Tahoe.
Confessions of a Chacoholic
I love Chacos. True story: I own 8 pairs of them. Two pairs hiked the Appalachian Trail, two have hiked the John Muir Trail and the Wonderland Trail twice, and three have now hiked the Pacific Crest Trail. Combined they've been my companions for well north of 5,000 trail miles. The 8th pair? I got married to my best friend in those.
Crimson and Gold
When I think back on the 12 or 13 hours between the start and end of hiking each day, it's remarkable how many different phases it can take on. Like a play in multiple acts, there are often high points and low points, internal conflicts and resolutions. Today began with tired legs and a tired mind as I hauled myself up and over the first long climb of the day…
54 Miles East of Seattle
All morning it was thoughts of a bed and our first day off in over 600 miles that propelled us on. The return of the sun a day before had morphed into cloud cover this morning and by the time we had our first view of the I-90 interstate, the rain had begun to fall yet again. With only a handful of miles remaining to get to Snoqualmie Pass, it hardly mattered.
Breakfast Eve
Everything about today's miles felt like a prelude to tomorrow's excitement. One more full day stood between us and the breakfast buffet at Timberline Lodge that so many southbounders have raved about, and when the feasting is all done Emily and my Mom will be there to greet us. I've tried for days to keep a lid on the welling excitement…
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.
Rest, Rest, and More Rest
Like most zero days, today was the usual choreographed sequence of rest-eat-rest-eat, with a resupply trip to the grocery store. The two days here in Tehachapi have been a welcome break, though it's easy to become restless sitting idle for such a long time after being in the routine of moving up the trail everyday.
Raindrops in the Desert
The 4:30am alarm on my watch came early, but I quickly pulled my gear together and set off just before 5:00. Is it possible to hate the morning but love the sunrise? Minutes down the trail, that was the question I asked Gazelle, sensing that like me she struggled to greet the day at such an hour but enjoyed the soft glow of its pastel beauty.
Abol Bridge
The dwindling miles that now separate me from Katahdin have been matched by a dwindling pace. My energy has slowly waned over the course of the past month, having long since consumed what fat reserves I had, so the leisurely pace has been a welcome change. It also has felt like a natural winding down of the hike, allowing each moment to stretch to its maximum.
CT 341
A short day heading into Kent, CT with Northern Harrier, Footloose, and Jan, who is heading home to New Jersey from Kent. A nice little quintessentially New England town, good food, and of course it's always nice to do laundry. Splitting a room tonight with Footloose and Harrier to relax a little and get some more rest. Lately, everyone seems to be feeling very worn down and shelter registers are filled with more and more pessimism and hikers talking about their "trail blues" and overall mental and physical weariness.