I am sending this post from the highest place in the continental US. My son, Scott, and I started our climb at 2 AM and arrived to watch the sunrise over Death Valley. Scott joined me at Kennedy Meadows, and we have hiked 75 miles and climbed nearly 20K feet. Summiting Whitney was worth every step.
Getting Ready – approaching Mt. Whitney from the east
We hiked into Crabtree Meadows yesterday to prepare for the 7.8 mile, 4K foot climb.
Looking for the trail is a team effort.
We left camp at 2 AM and worked together to find the trail with our headlamps.
Watching the sunrise over Death Valley.We used sleeping bags to wait for the sun.At the top of the Continental US.
Exhaling crystals
heart pounds like a pile driver
Mt. Whitney awaits.
Ribs
Part of our PCT plan is to use my wife’s incredible support, the ultimate trail angel, to leap forward and backward to optimize the chance of finishing the trail in one year. There are many reasons this helps from avoiding snow, fires, and dealing with injuries. The time window is short for finishing the desert section before the summer heat and the northern Cascades before the snowfalls. We successfully lept backward to complete the San Jacinto section earlier, so what could go wrong?
This week we lept 700 miles forward to start an 83 mile, three-day hike beginning at Burney Falls, north of Mt. Lassen, and ending at Castle Crags on I-5. It was time to test our approach to find terrain with less snow. I immediately felt at home, entering a deep, lush forest, and I did not see another person for 65 miles. I could make out one pair of shoe prints from this season, maybe two weeks earlier.
The lush forest was like coming home. My camp on the first night after 25 miles – home aloneMt. Shasta from my campsite
COVID deprived us of our holiday traditions, so we experimented with a few new ones. One was to watch the classic holiday movie Home Alone. That first day on the trail felt a bit like Macaulay Culkin’s first night celebrating after realizing that he had the house to himself. Similarly, it is the second day when the real story begins. My experience shifted from a stroll through the forest to a 13-hour orienteering drill through deep snow. The faint shoe prints vanished early on, replaced by deer and bear prints. I could not figure out why there were 12-foot drifts and miles of snowfields when the snow reports showed otherwise. I put those theoretical questions aside and got serious about using all my navigation tools (apps, maps, compass, and GPS) to find the most efficient route.
Black bear prints and scat were frequent, so I used my whistle to alert them of my presence.I hiked four hours through deep snow – sometimes, the most accessible trail is straight up.The views of Mt. Shasta continued to inspire me.
I finally broke free of the snowfields and discovered the answer to my question. I was hiking through a north-facing basin that funneled the weather from several mountains leading to deep snowdrifts. I did not see another section with this level of variation. I hiked hard once I cleared the snow basin and camped after covering 24 miles. I was exhausted but also felt good about how I worked through my unexpected challenges.
I solved the mystery once I reached the ridge.
The third day was like the triumphant coming home party that the wiser and more confident Macaulay Culkin experienced. I hiked 34 miles through beautiful old-growth forests and completely lost myself in the experience. My wonderful trail angel was there at I-5 with trays of food, including fried chicken, salad, potato wedges, fruit, cookies, and I ate it all. I am so fortunate to have a chance to immerse myself in this experience with such unconditional support.
My reward was an amazing 34-mile day through old-growth forests.
I am dedicating this post to my new dear friend – the Southern California section of the PCT. I completed the hike to Kennedy Meadows yesterday in style with a 31-mile day driven by my trail family as we raced to spend an evening at Grumpy Bears, an oasis for hikers preparing to enter the Sierra Nevada Mountains. It was a fitting end to a hike through entirely new terrain and experiences. If the hike ended here, I would have stories and friends for a lifetime. My thru-hiker bug is excited to turn the page to see what is next.
My reward for pushing hard to get to Grumpy Bears (I love this place).
I completed 700 miles in 30 hiking days, or 23 miles a day. I took five days off (zeros) for an average of 20 miles a day in total. 700 miles is 26% of the total PCT mileage, and I have climbed around 140K feet or 28% of the total. These numbers don’t mean anything on the trail because every mile, every vista, and every step brings something new. I have never had such an extended immersive experience.
Crossing 700 miles after a wild last day.
Even though I have backpacked for decades, thru-hiking is relatively new to me. Thru-hiking is different in that the enjoyment comes from the journey, not from reaching a destination. You carry everything on your back for the entire day, so simplicity is key.
Today I met Yogi, a woman that opened the door to thru-hiking. Yogi, or Jackie McDonnell, has hiked the Appalachian Trail twice, Pacific Crest Trail 3.5 times, the Continental Divide Trail twice, and the Colorado Trail once. Her books made thru-hiking accessible. I was starstruck when I discovered she and her partner own the Triple Crown Outfitters re-supply depot at Kennedy Meadows. I have learned so much from Yogi, and she is my meta trail angel.
Yogi giving me the PCT 2021 Class bandana.
I will leave you with a few photos of the last section of the trail leading from the Mojave Desert into the Sierra. I am jumping north for a week before starting the Southern Sierra section with my son Scott. Thanks for joining me and feel free to share this blog with others. See you down the trail.
Hiking into Kennedy Meadows.Sawtooth Peak reminds me of my days hiking in Idaho.A morning climb from Spanish Needle Creek.Crossing Walker Pass at 6 AM to climb Mt. Jenkins.Dusk setting on Ridgecrest.
Hello again. I have been busy at my day job, which involves a green 38-liter backpack and two hiking poles. Today is my seventh day in a row with two more left to Kennedy Meadows, the doorstep of the Sierra. As I type this on my phone, I find myself at mile 658 and at 8,000 feet.
One of the most anticipated (or dreaded) sections of the PCT is the Mojave desert crossing north of LA. It is only 60 miles, but the temperatures often require carrying large quantities of water and hiking at night. I hiked with a rainstorm closing in that dropped snow in the surrounding foothills. I will let my photos tell the story.
The Mojave trek starts at hikertown. This funky enclave is a microcosm of trail life.The first leg follows the California aqueduct teasing anyone who didn’t bring enough water.The next 20 miles follow the LA aqueduct.The storm closing in at dusk.I camped on a wind farm under a full moon.Hundreds of 3MW windmills created a surreal light and soundscape.A morning rainbow and cold wind greeted me on the second day, but the rain did not return.I hiked through the wind farm for over 30 miles.
I have turned the corner and started to head north again. I am taking a zero and will restart the trail on mile 511. I have achieved a significant milestone – crossing the 500-mile mark, but it is bittersweet. I had to skip miles 486 – 511 due to a trail closure because of the Lake Fire. This is the second section of the trail closed by recent forest fires.
Ideas for what to write typically come and go. This post has been with me for three weeks emotionally, even though the pieces don’t seem evident on an intellectual level. Sharing what I am experiencing on the trail can feel like trying to explain a dream to someone – so please bear with me.
Apache Peak fire after 12 years
As soon as I started climbing mountains in Southern California, I experienced the scale and devastation of their wildfires. Many areas of the trail have been closed due to unstable soil and the danger of falling debris. The above photo from Apache Peak shows the damage 12 years later. I live in the northwest; I am used to hiking through some burned sections of the forest. But here, it is the norm – day after day.
Ten miles north of Apache Peak
I noticed my pattern of ignoring the burned sections and pushing through to the lush forest. The dense forests along the PCT in Southern California are few and far between. I understand that forest fires play a role in natural ecosystems. Still, we have crossed into a new regime of fires that burn hotter and more frequently fueled by higher temperatures, frequent interaction with humans, and misguided fire suppression methods.
Holding the wisdom of generations
I’ve always had a thing for trees. I befriend trees in our local forests and look forward to visiting them. I feel comforted by them, and they give me a sense of wisdom that spans the generations. On the trail, I have started touching them to connect on a different level and sometimes even chew on a small piece of bark. Many date back 400 years or more, and although they are independent, they survive together. Thru-hiking into a grove immediately calls me to attention.
Los Angeles Forest (taken by “Twister”)
To see even one, let alone scores of these wise giants, fall together gives me a feeling of extreme loss. They know how to withstand fires, and by the time they reach maturity, they have seen many fires come and go, and their bark bears these scars. But they were not built to withstand the infernos of these times.
Bill and I playing in the White Clouds
The unexpected and tragic loss in the natural environment has frequently brought me back to those I have lost in life. My brother loved sharing wilderness adventures, was as kind, strong, and determined as they come, and became a kid when he was outdoors. We became two kids, the same ones who shared a bedroom for most of our childhood and talked about everything under the sun. He was swept away by cancer too young. He would have been so engaged in my hike, whether on the trail or giving me his full support.
Walking the trail provides a constant reminder of how fragile and precious life is – including the lives of all that share the earth with us.
In an earlier blog, I shared that I had to pull out of the last 30 miles of the San Jacinto section of the PCT due to heavy snow. Within a few days, Alesia and I were scheming on how to get back to complete this section. I did, and it was a big day. In my hiking vocabulary, a big day is just beyond reach, possible, but it calls forth more of everything; more focus, more energy, more endurance with a large splash of attitude.
5:30 AM start on Devil’s Slide trail
The goal was to hike back to Saddle Junction where I left the PCT. The Devil’s Slide trail was the shortest route at 2.5 miles but added 1,700 feet of climbing to the front end of my hike. The starting temperature was 37 degrees, and it was below freezing on San Jacinto.
Early light climbing to Saddle Junction
The climb was beautiful as the morning light filtered in from the east. I quickly climbed from 6,400 feet to Saddle Junction at 8,100 feet.
A look back to Tahquitz Peak
Once on the PCT, the climb continued up to 9,000 feet. I felt that this challenge was going much easier than expected. The morning had a brisk and brilliant feel, and my legs and lungs were more than excited to push forward.
So much for trail reports.
The wheels started to come off as quickly as turning a bend on the trail. The deep snow returned and was not at all what I had heard from other hikers. I spent the next eight miles navigating snow on the ascent and descent. Fortunately, the cold temperatures over the previous days kept me from sinking deep into the snow (post-holing). I put micro-spikes onto my hiking shoes to gain some traction. Nonetheless, it was exhausting and my pace slowed to the point that I assumed I would need to shelter overnight.
Looking down at I-10, my destination
After descending several thousand feet, I finally left the snow behind. I had only covered 13 miles in seven hours. Looking north, I could see my destination 7,500 feet below and 20 miles away. It seemed out of reach, but thinking about what is possible is much less effective than seeing what is possible – one step at a time.
Looking back at San Jacinto from the north
The descent took me down over 15 miles of switchbacks from the lush forest to a barren desert. San Jacinto’s presence was apparent around every corner. My feet and legs begged for a break from the pounding, but the remaining miles started to look doable.
A wild place to admire
I covered 33 miles, climbed 6,700 feet, and descended 12,700 feet in under 14 hours. San Jacinto is a small wilderness by western standards, but it is wild and dangerous. I had read reports and watched videos of this hike, and it was hard for me to grasp why this area has taken the lives of PCT hikers and locals. I am so glad to have seen it first hand, and I admire it as a precious wild place.
For the first few days on the trail, I felt like I was setting the agenda. That bubble burst this week. After ten days and 200+ miles, it is clear that the trail and everything surrounding it provide the experience, and I am here to learn (one way or another). My lesson so far is to connect with what is, don’t add my delusional views, whether blissful, angry, or needy. Then I must decide what I will make of it. I will be relearning this lesson every day, and I sense there are many chapters to come.
Crossing a welcoming meadow north of Warner springs.
Segment 2 started with two hot days, little water, and questionable sources. With 10K feet of climbing, I began to get angry, thirsty, and hungry. All these growing obsessions were neither accurate nor helpful. The bliss-meter took a nosedive. I found refuge at Mike’s Place, a renowned oasis in the Lost Valley of all places. Never has a tortilla filled with a hot dog slathered in refried beans tasted so good.
This was one of the better water sources.Good strumming and conversation at Mike’s Place.Encouragement from previous travelers.
I climbed the San Jacinto mountains for the next three days, known as one of the PCT’s most challenging and dangerous sections due to the exposure and volatile weather. On the first day, I faced 60-mile hour winds and on the second deep snow. It is beautiful, but every few steps, I post-holed waist-deep, risking injury. I decided to detour around the final 30 miles as an even stronger wind storm approached. My learning was put to the test as my ego argued against all evidence to fight through the conditions and my fatigue. I chose to learn and hike another day. Well, now, my trail angel just arrived.
Climbing into San Jacinto.I started to post-hole on every step and quickly lost the trail. Following other tracks only made it worse as they also wandered through the basin.
I am sitting in a peaceful campground outside of Julian, California, enjoying my first “zero.” For thru-hikers, a zero is a day off, meaning zero miles hiked that day. I have planned five zeros over the first 700 miles, so these are mighty precious. Since Alesia is supporting me in our van, I have been able to stay in the vehicle at some road crossings. It has helped me push the mileage and recover more effectively, an incredible advantage as I get myself into PCT shape.
Crossing the 100-mile mark
Alesia’s family knows how to read and interpret box scores. I can’t do either – but here is my PCT box score for the 1st of 26 segments. In five days, I covered 109 miles with 12K feet of climbing. All 26 segments comprise 2650 miles and 390K feet of climbing. The home team is off to a great start. Other statistics include bliss-meter pegged at 110%, 0 injuries, 0 blisters, 0 sunburns, and 0 rattlesnake bites. I went from COVID-19 zoom-zombie to a 10 hour per day hiker, which just shouldn’t happen on paper. I ended up doing this segment one day faster than planned. Here are a few photos from the journey so far. I fell in love with the rugged and vast terrain from Campo to Warner Springs.
Looking back at Scissors Crossing, where we boondocked.An amazing meadow with wildflowers near Warner Springs.I crossed this meadow near sunset.Eagle Rock near Warner Springs.Bliss meter pegged, even as I finished a 32-mile day.
I had my lists, gear, and apps all ready to go. What I didn’t prepare for was entering the PCT community. I have been hiking forever, but these four stories are unique and happened in my first 48 hours on the trail.
The first happened when I was devouring a malt after my first day. A woman approached and talked for 10 minutes alternating between sharing stories about a PCT death last year, name-dropping trail angels (Bad Santa is the only one I can remember), and asking for my name and contact info. I had no idea how to respond. Later I realized the locals take ownership of the migrating flock of hikers from around the world who pass through these remote outposts.
Then I was hiking along, and I saw this cairn labyrinth. It was about 1/5 size for humans, but it was so intricate with small symbols to the thru-hikers. Someone in this tiny community came out and spent time making an offering.
Nearly everybody you pass on the trail offers encouragement. I met a six-year-old kid, and he stopped right in front of me and said, “mister, are you going to Canada?” I said, “I hope so,” and he gave me an approving nod. The kicker is when I came around a corner, and previous PCT hikers (“Raven” and “The 9th guy”) had set up a trail magic station full of fruit, snacks, and drinks. It was better than most aid stations on ultra-marathons I have run. They drove out from San Diego to pay it forward.
Last but not least, in terms of long-term impact, I was climbing Mt. Laguna, and I looked up to see a totally naked man hiking down. He greeted me with the same question as the six-year-old kid. I wish the picture in my mind could be deleted.
My question, along with most others, is why hike the Pacific Crest Trail? It is a completely logical question. And honestly, I don’t know why – I will need to get back to you on that. In my defense, I have had accomplices for a decade when it comes to getting swept away by magnificent PCT sections in the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California and the Cascade Mountains of Oregon and Washington. On another occasion, I was standing at the start of the PCT being mesmerized by the possibility.
It started with Todd in 2011 on a trip into Marie Lake and then summiting the Seven Gables. My previous hikes were in Idaho and the Pacific Northwest. The Sierra is like a different planet and we had just scratched the surface.
Alesia and Scott got into the act with a six day trip into the Ansel Adams wilderness in 2014. The trap was closing and I was looking for any excuse to get back there.
Mitchell hiked 800 miles of the PCT in 2015 before starting law school. I took him down to the starting point in Campo California. I asked if I could hike the first few miles with him and he had to order me to turn around after three miles. The pull of the trail and the adventure really surprised me.
Jenessa’s friend offered her two permits to hike half of the John Muir Trail 2017. I begged to get the other permit and against her better judgment, she agreed. We spent nine days on the trail to Yosemite. That thru-hike made me realize how much I love waking up every day and just walking. And so here I am.
