Transformative – Walking-Heart

Trip of a Lifetime

     Trip of a lifetime
     Unfolding body and mind
     into everything
          Ribs

I touched the northern terminus of the Pacific Crest Trail on Thursday, August 19th at 10:36 a.m. after hiking 2,653.6 miles in 118 days. What truly surprised me, and I will never forget, is the rousing cheer from the ten thru-hikers serendipitously gathered at the end of their journeys. A Canadian woman named Frosty had hiked in eight miles from Manning Park, BC to bring a beautiful spread of trail magic, including chocolate, chips, fresh vegetables, and fruit that we so crave. Other hikers had brought in bottles of champagne, and I had packed a flask of 10-year aged rye whiskey. I never put much weight on the actual day of completing the PCT; it didn’t dawn on me how emotional and significant it would be.

My son Mitchell, who section hiked 800 miles of the PCT, told me before I left that this would be “a trip of a lifetime.” I was wondering whether I could even complete a hundred miles, let alone the whole thing. And I certainly didn’t know how significant this experience would be for me. He was right; this is a trip of a lifetime. He also told me that the relationships he built on the trail were as meaningful as the other aspects of the hike. I did not think I would have the same experience as an older solo-hiker amongst mostly young hikers. I was wrong; I felt respected, included, and loved by this community. They are living life all-in and are the most impressive athletes I have ever met.

Given that we cannot cross into Canada, PCT hikers must hike 30 miles from Harts Pass to the terminus and then turn around and hike 30 miles back. I’d left my tent and other camping equipment 15 miles back to reduce my pack weight. I had told myself to spend no more than 30 minutes at the terminus since the day required me to hike 30 miles and climb 8,000 feet. I was with the group for two hours and could have stayed for two days. I will never forget the warmth and love that the hikers shared and how each had supported one another. Amazingly, hikers that I had not seen for three months were there at the terminus, and it was just as if we had seen each other yesterday. Hiking back to camp was indeed a celebration with frequent whoops of joy and my feet felt like they floated up the 3,000 foot climb.

I will let my pictures do the talking to show the 90-mile section from Rainy Pass to the terminus and then back to Harts Pass. I’m also enabling the comments feature on the blog for the first time since I can now respond in a timely manner. I plan to write several other blog posts on topics that span the entire trail, such as what I’ve learned about gear, food, and reflections about the transformative nature of walking. Please feel free to share your observations, questions, or suggestions for future posts in the comments.

I have so appreciated your support by listening to my journey. This blog has helped me to reflect on my experience and put it into words. It is like a photographer looking through the lens and seeing more than they would have otherwise. I never intended to make this trip into something, I just wanted to hike. It led me to the advice of Parker Palmer in his book, Let Your Life Speak. In this beautiful little book, he asks us to look inside to see our place in the grand and magnificent universe we enjoy.

I look forward to seeing you down the trail.

The group of PCT thru-hikers celebrating together at the northern terminus. They, and the dozens of other hikers I shared the trail with, enriched and supported me in innumerable ways.

It had rained most of the night at Rainy Pass, but the storm eased as I hiked through the cloud layer.

Before starting from Rainy Pass, Pleasure-Way and I saw Stud Muffin, Green Man, and Shepherd starting their hike. Pleasure-Way offered blueberry muffins and a flask with rye whiskey for their celebration in three days. By the way, hiking kilts are pretty popular as an alternative to rain pants.

The sun came out on the second day. I took this photo as I climbed from my campsite on Glacier Pass to Tatie Peak.

I saw two female grouse next to the trail on the second day. My son, Scott, and his wife, Katie, told me that seeing a grouse in the wild is a rare treat. I had heard the deep thumping mating call of the male grouse since the Sierra but had never seen one. These birds were so calm, almost soulful, as they watched me pass.

On the third day, I started hiking in the dark to get to the terminus and back. The dew was slowly losing its grip on Rock Pass as I hiked past at 5:30 am.

Sunrise on the third day as I continued to climb the ridges to get to the terminus.

Three months earlier, I dreamed about doing a tree pose at the northern terminus. The cadre celebrating together supported me with catcalls and whoops as I gave it my best shot. The border is the opposite of a wall – it is a narrow clear-cut running through the forest. I am the only tree standing as you can see the clear-cut extending off into the distance behind me.

Pleasure-Way alerted me that the earlier rain forecast had become more severe for the hike out. The clouds told the same story as we hiked back to camp.

We woke on day four in a cloud as we started our last 15 miles of the journey. Thankfully, it eased during the day but came on strong after driving out of Harts Pass. The road into Harts Pass is not for the timid, with 10 miles of cliffs over a road that deserves a 4WD.

Our successful cadre of thru-hikers, meeting family and waiting for transportation out of Harts Pass.

What Mind is Walking?

Last summer, during a training hike, I met a couple who had completed the PCT in 2015. We had a great discussion about why they enjoyed it so much and what it took to complete it. I then ask them whether I was too old, and they laughed and shared that an 82-year-old was keeping up with them during sections of their hike. The conversation concluded with this summary remark; “it’s a mental journey, not a physical one.”

As I’ve thought about that conversation, I have wondered how can 2,650 miles all be in one’s mind. I started meditating with the Corvallis Zen Circle ten years ago to develop my awareness. Jon Kabat-Zinn, internationally known for his work as a scientist, writer, and meditation teacher, defines awareness as “paying attention in the present moment, non-judgmentally.” I asked my Zen teacher, Abby Mushin Terris, for a Koan to guide my inquiry. Koans are unanswerable questions, at least through our everyday thought processes. After listening to my description, she offered the following Koan, “what mind is walking?” This question yielded some immediate surprises.

The first surprise is that during the early weeks when I was getting angry, depressed, or anxious about the hike, I could trace that anxiety to what I describe as my thinking mind. The thinking mind is a magnificent problem-solving machine, but it’s best when it has good information. At the start, I had a limited understanding of what was in store for me or whether I could complete this journey. When people would ask whether I was hiking to Canada, the only honest answer I could give was “I hope so, but I don’t know.” These kinds of answers drive the thinking mind crazy. With no tangible information to go on, I noticed it swirling into ever-changing stories and distractions that fueled my anxiety.

The second surprise came from observing my body walking. Using my awareness, I observed my body’s sensations, emotions, and thoughts while hiking all day. Walking over continuously changing terrain is complex. It is no wonder that roboticists have taken decades to develop robots that can marginally imitate how humans walk. I noticed how my body anticipated and applied thinking in real-time. For example, I observed that a split second before I stumble, multiple parts of my body had shifted their position in anticipation of the stumble, such as my arm position and the tightened grip of my hands on the hiking poles. I was not consciously aware that any of these actions had occurred even after I stumbled. So the question then is what mind is figuring all of this out if it is not my thinking mind located in my prefrontal cortex.

After hiking 1847 miles, I can share some insights into this question. In my case, I have identified 32 minds that are walking, and this is still evolving. They are all directly involved with getting me safely through each 12-hour day. These minds include individual joints and muscles (left foot, right knee, left hip flexor, etc.), organs (lungs, heart, bowels, etc.), senses (sight, hearing, balance, etc.), and my thinking mind. One technique used in meditation practice is to use your awareness to observe individual parts of your body, known as a body scan. I spend about one hour twice a day doing a body scan. I connect with each of these “walking-minds” by observing them and establish a direct connection as the day progresses.

My third surprise is the most important. I observed that my body loves to walk. It’s not necessary for me to will my way mile after mile while playing pump-up music. I don’t need any motivation at all; my body is designed to walk, and it feels rewarding. This practice has taken a great burden from my thinking mind. Now that I am in direct contact with the crucial systems of my body needed for walking, my thinking mind can focus on what it’s good at, like planning my route, finding water, solving problems, and applying its creative capacity.

Before you write this post off as the rantings of a crazed thru-hiker, I suggest you try this for yourself. During a walk, spend time focusing on one part of your body, like your left foot, and see whether your relationship with it changes. When would-be hikers ask me, my summary remark will be something like, “it’s a mental journey, and you need to engage the intelligence of both mind and body.”

Here are a few photos from my first 150 miles in Oregon!