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Take a picture here. PCT northern terminus.

PCT reflections

For the first time in weeks, I found time to sit down and write some words in a disorderly fashion. Let's see:

I keep thinking of my expectations matching, or not, what I found on the trail, of others' views on the hike, the come back home, what it all meant... the good and bad things, the difficulties, the feelings along the way... and all I can think of is how different we all are! which is something I already knew, we all know that but it's still striking to find out with such clarity.

I knew what I was getting into, I knew what I wanted and I even knew how I'd feel about it... or I think I knew and, you know what, it pretty much turned out that way. I don't know if that's good or bad. Not much place for the surprise factor, it seems.

It wasn't my first long distance hike but it was my first hike this long. Does it mean any difference to be on the trail for 14 weeks instead of 4? My guess is not if you are as determined as I was to thru-hike the trail. It was my goal, my dream and I wouldn't let anything step in the middle. That's the way it works for me. I keep on thinking maybe I'm a slave to my own goals but I guess it's in my nature. But I digress...

I had this dream that meant not only completing the PCT but also living through it and finding something of value in the process, be it in the contact with nature, with the people or whatever else. But I couldn't forget the only valid scenario was that of a thru-hike attempt. I wouldn't just set out to see what happens, I set out to get there. That was my burden but that was also what helped me out of the bad times. There weren't any bad times, really! At least, not to the point that I considered leaving the trail, not even for a moment, not even for a few days. I just had to keep going. And, yes, there came the time when the trail felt like a hard, badly paid and even boring job but I made it through it because my goal was still intact and untouched by the routine. It's odd that I kept telling myself, and others, that the bottom line was about having fun, that it'd be pointless if you were not having fun on a regular basis, blah, blah, blah... yet I could perfectly survive without having fun for a while cos I still wanted to get to the end. Anything else was not even an option. Maybe it's not the nicest motivation source but it surely was effective for me.

So I knew I was going there in May and coming back in September. I knew I was hiking the thing and then going back home, back to my job, back to everything I knew and I knew once back it'd be as if the hike had never happened. Not that I had no memories of it but about my being in the same place I was before. No breakthrough, nothing really new. Just back. And therefore it wouldn't be any difficult to come back.

It probably helps the fact that everything around me is so far from the PCT or the idea of hiking it to make me feel like it never happened. That is, I will need to relive the PCT experience by myself, by writing these pieces or reading about others' on the net or whatever. Nobody around me will be asking me to tell stories or even asking me anything at all about my hike. And that's fair enough: it's fun and rewarding to share trail experiences but any unidirectional interaction gets dated after the very first hearing. And I have nobody around to share the trail experience.

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Thru-hiking the PCT

It’s technically easy to hike from Mexico to Canada on a single season. After all, it’s all basically about walking, staying outside for extended periods while being self-reliant and little else. The difficulty lies somewhere else: I think it’s the length of the journey that makes it challenging. It’s a non-technical but huge task.

I believe anybody can do it… provided they want to. In other words, the challenge is more a mental than a physical one. Sure it’s hard work and it’ll take its toll on your body but it’s really your mind that’ll keep you on the trail or will take you out of it.

Is it then any different from virtually anything you might tackle in life? Strictly speaking, not really. You can climb Everest, paddle down the Yukon or cycle around the world if that’s your goal and you go for it but you may need a different starting point for either of those. My point here is you don’t really need to be super fit neither you need highly technical training to thru-hike the PCT. Anybody can do it. But it’s a hell of a long, hard work so you do need a considerable amount of will power. If you don’t have that, chances are you will not make it.

The two words I like here are motivation and determination. One leads to the other. Different people get their motivation from different sources and that’s up to everyone, there’s no better or worse way. Whatever motivates you, that’s your best way.

Beware I don’t mean anybody with an idea can just put on a backpack for the first time and set out to do this. It’s not that easy. I understand common sense dictates you must know what you’re getting into.

Obstacles

Nevermind all your motivation, there are at least a couple of issues that bear mentioning. They may be more or less important depending on season and timing but be sure you’ll have to face at least some snow and water. Hiking on either is nothing like hiking on dirt.

• Snow

There was still lots of it in the High Sierra when I arrived in early to mid June during my 2006 thru-hike. The most popular concern about snow is usually the progression on steep, hard-packed snowfields with the potential for a slip and eventual fall that may be fatal. You need to be cautious about this, assess the risks and try to avoid dangerous scenarios as much as you need to know what to do if you do slip and fall. Nevertheless, I want to mention two other factors about snow that are not so much talked about, less technical but just as important: route finding and exhaustion.

These are both well known issues for the average backpacker as they’re relevant anywhere but they come to a whole new level when hiking on snow for extended periods.

In 2006, the trail was buried for miles. We spent as much as 30 hours straight with barely a hint of where the trail was. Bottom line: you need to be able to navigate.

In the high country, navigation is usually easy, weather permitting, by major landmarks but you still need to be able to read a map and find your way around. Be aware it’s you, the map and the landscape. Be proficient with this and, if you aren’t, team up with somebody who is (and take the chance to practice and learn).

Navigation is most difficult when snow is found in lower areas below tree line where landmarks are hidden by the trees and the terrain. Hopefully, this shouldn’t be an issue in a normal snow year but beware the exception and take special care.

Exhaustion is the less popular of the big issues. Hiking on snow can be exceptionally energy consuming, particularly when the snow is deep and soft so you sink. But also being on the snow for days, many hours every day, is itself a big energy sink. The snow is cold and, quite often, wet and no matter how warm it may get during the day once the sun is out cold temperatures set in. All this adds up and you need plenty of calories to keep your body working. I think you basically need to be aware the framework is different from what you were used to: you’ll be working harder and for longer hours to cover two thirds, maybe half the distance you were used to. Be aware of this and plan accordingly.

Suncup fest in Bighorn Plateau, south of Forester pass

• Water

Hiking on water is even more difficult than hiking on snow. We sink in the water all the time. And water moves; sometimes, very fast. Fortunately, and by its own nature, water is not found all over the place for miles on end but that tiny stretch may be enough to be a problem.

I personally found the river crossings to be the most difficult, challenging and daunting thing I had to do in the whole trip. I’d even say it was the only really dangerous thing: not the snow, the desert heat, the rattlesnakes, the bears or Sasquatch but the river crossings.

No kidding... getting wet in Mono creek
(photo by Rolling Thunder)

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