Mile 0 - 112: Breaking It In

Obligatory Terminus Photo

What is the Pacific Crest Trail?

The Pacific Crest Trail is a 2,600ish-mile route from Mexico to Canada, following the mountains of the western United States through desert, forest, and high alpine terrain. It’s a continuous trail, but what it becomes depends a lot on the person walking it.

I didn’t get the best sleep the night before starting. I’ve slept on that air mattress before, but I couldn’t quite figure out my head this time. Still slept, just not deeply.

A lot of people were packed up before me in the morning, but it didn’t matter. The Pacific Crest Trail Association (PCTA) gave us breakfast, walked us through logistics, handed out tags, and then we were off.

It didn’t really hit me until about two miles past the terminus. That quiet realization that I had actually started.

Around mile five I passed a rattlesnake, tucked just off the side of the trail. I heard it before I saw it. That sound is something else. I approached slowly, leading with my trekking poles, probably five feet away. First one I’ve ever seen. Beautiful and terrifying at the same time. I stood there for a bit, just taking it in.

The morning was kind, but the heat built through the day. My feet and calves started to feel it. I ended up hiking with a couple Europeans, Dina and Tommy. We camped around mile fifteen with a lot of other hikers. I had expected water at the creek, but it had been dry for a while.

Dina and Tommy got out before me the next morning. I slept well that night, a few dreams mixed in. I started a bit late, tried pants, quickly regretted it once the sun was up. My legs felt good though, fresh enough for the climb out of the canyon.

Caught back up with them for a bit and we hiked into a small town for food and a charge. I don’t know what was holding them up, but I ended up heading out first.

Hiked for hours after that. Took a break under an underpass, feet up, letting things settle. I had it in my head that I wanted to at least start the Laguna climb that day.

A challenge?

The next morning I skipped breakfast. I’m still slow packing up camp, and I’ve been trying to stretch, do a few pushups, hold onto some upper body strength. Might be pointless, but it feels like something.

Planned a shorter day, about ten miles into Mt. Laguna. Around four and a half miles in, while I was eating breakfast, a guy passed and told me the restaurant closed at 1:30. It was Wednesday. That lit a fire under my butt.

I had just crushed breakfast and a lot of water, so I felt a bit bloated, but I had the energy to push. Made it just before 1pm. Turned out the owner had decided to close at 1pm anyway. Pure luck.

Ran into the same guy who told me about the closing time. He had double Triple-crowned (the Pacific Coast Trail, the Appalachia Trail, and the Continental Divide trail). Just casually going for 30+ mile days. Not my world.

I scarfed down a heavy meal and had to decide whether to stay or keep going. No camping allowed for the next stretch, which meant pushing another twelve miles. Longest day yet.

I sent it.

There was a brief stretch through trees at the top of the Laguna Mountains that felt like a reprieve, but it didn’t last. Back into exposure. I kept drinking water and couldn’t figure out where it was going. I was a bit overzealous trying to maintain my electrolytes i.e. taking too much salt. I felt like a water ballon.

I started getting nervous about water. The next source was reported as spotty on FarOut. When I got there, nothing. Luckily a couple Canadians in a van filled me up. They were taking a year off, coming back from Baja, biking all over. Good people.

A little further on, I found a full cistern. False alarm.

Camp that night was on the side of a cliff, just off a primitive road. Not many good tent spots. The wind started picking up after sunset. Then it really started moving.

I could hear it building in waves before it hit. Like something rolling toward me. The stakes weren’t holding great, so I had to get out a few times in the dark to reset things. At one point I thought the tent might tear.

By morning it had mostly died down. I made it through, but didn’t get the sleep I was hoping for after a long day.

I realized staying fully covered keeps me clean

Everything feels more real now. I’ve never been this dirty in my life. I’m grateful for the sleeping bag liner, because I am disgusting.

I keep thinking about how long this actually is. It hits in waves. What did I sign up for.

I camped near a water source with a few others. You can hear a wolf sanctuary in the distance at sunset, mixed with quail nearby. Strangely comforting.

I’m moving at a good pace. It doesn’t feel competitive, but passing people, getting passed, it gives a sense of where I’m at. Mostly I’m just trying not to blow out my joints this early.

April 10, heading into Julian.

While looking for a place to take a bush poo, I got stabbed by a yucca leaf right on my Achilles. Didn’t feel like much at first, but about three miles in it started to hurt. Then it escalated quickly.

It didn’t feel like something that built up like tendinitis. It was sudden. When I started feeling a clicking in my heel, I got concerned.

Beautiful flowers, horrible leaves

Stopped, took off my shoes and socks. Swelling right where it hit. Took some ibuprofen, dropped a layer of socks to give it space. That helped a lot.

Still wondering if something broke off in there, but I’ll keep an eye on it.

Hitched into Julian with a Czech woman and her daughter. Very kind. Once in town, saw a lot of familiar faces.

Got free pie, ice cream, and lemonade at Mom’s. Unreal. Then a proper meal with some hikers.

Resupply hurt. Small town prices, but it makes sense.

Got a ride out to Stagecoach from a guy called The Professor. Good dude.

Showered, did laundry. The amount of dirt that came off me was impressive. Before the shower I had no issue walking barefoot on rocks. After, I had to tiptoe.

Spent the evening talking with people. Kept running into Skye, who’s just doing the desert. He’s faster than me, but I’m keeping up in my own way. We talked a bit about nonprofit work.

At one point I felt this wave of loneliness. Not for friends or family. Something else. That easy, inconsequential talking with someone you’re close to. It came and went.

The next day getting back on trail was harder than expected. Clean, fed, comfortable. Hard to leave that.

But once I started walking, it came back. That grounded feeling. It’s all feeling out here. Not much thinking.

I expected a short day but ended up going further. About seven miles more than planned.

Saw Tommy again, waving me down from a distance. Good to see him. Him and Dina are moving just behind me now.

There was some trail magic. Fruit, gorp. Always hits.

The San Felipe Hills were beautiful. More exposed, fewer critters. Still a bit beat up, ankle not perfect, but manageable.

Looking west, the Volcan Mountains were unreal. Rolling green waves across the ridges. Something about them felt…alive. Hard to describe other than damn sexy mountains.

It already feels like I’ve been out here for a long time.

My dreams have been intense. Feels like things I thought I had worked through are still hanging around. Less distraction out here. Nothing to buffer it, old ghosts, projections. 

When I’m hiking, it’s quiet in my head. When I stop, things come up.

I think part of this is letting that happen. Bringing things up instead of letting them sit in the background.

Today was probably my favorite day so far.

The Warner Springs Meadows opened up in front of me. At first I thought it was sand dunes, but it was waves of golden grass. It reminded me of summers at my grandparents’ place in Oregon. Before harvest, when the wheat would move like water across the hills.

There was a single trail cutting through it. Felt like walking through something alive.

I made it to the community center right before the rain hit. Maybe five minutes before. Felt like good timing. I had a large burrito, was able to shower, wash my clothes.

I decided to head out to get a few more miles in before the sun went down, and to walk off that burrito. I set out back into the meadows with a light rain. I was the only one headed out. I could hear coyote songs a few hills over as the light faded. 

I am alone now.