One Year Ago Today

One year ago today, we set off to hike California.

Why We Went and What We Found
by Tony Hoagland

We will find the grail.
We will gallop our horses all night
and at dawn, descend from twisted mountain roads
to the plaza of a town without a name.
At the bronze hour when the sun
melts on the horizon like an old doubloon,
we will sail our ship into the harbor,
--salt crusted in our beards, trembling from years of motion
without maps or compasses; a little daffy from the velvet
sibilance of waves.
                                  The prow will touch the stone wharf
without a sound, the nightingales
will trill, the dead oak shaft of the
No Trespassing sign will blossom morning glories.
The mute beggar by the church will launch into an aria
in perfect, unaccented Italian

and we will hoist the bucket from the courtyard well
on its frayed rope
and drink the sacred water
as the horses nicker
and the almond trees
drop their white petals of applause.
If the order comes to burn the bridges,
we will burn the bridges.
If the order comes to cast ourselves into the sea,
                                                                                        we jump.

When we wake up in the morning, we will be ourselves again,
and begin our post-grail lives.
We will return to our people
who eat mud and say that it is good,
and we will eat the mud with them and say that it is good.
But it will never taste the same to us
in our post-grail existence.

Something will be missing we can't say.
No one will understand the Ph.G. we sign after our names,
or why we press our faces
deep into the artificial flowers,
half-hoping to be stung by bees.
Why we always go astray inside the glittering maze
of the department store,
and always end up at the perfume counter, wearing
scents called Shangri-La, Obsession, Holy Night,

finding none of them quite right,
none of them equal to a blow on the head
with a silver mace, a word whispered in a dream
like a gold key slid across a grate.

They won't understand, and we won't remember,
but we will never again be sad--never sad again!--
Or rather, never sad in the same way.

Fin

Three days off the trail in Bridgeport and South Lake Tahoe restored our spirits and our bodies. The thunderstorms that erupted over the trail every afternoon reinforced our decision to take a few "zeros" (days you don't walk, or rather, walk zero trail miles). The other reason for delaying was that we would be meeting our friends Dan and Lisa on the trail just past Echo Lake, so we needed to skip a few miles in order to meet them on the appointed weekend.

Friday afternoon we hiked down the South Lake Tahoe thoroughfare to the post office to mail
the bear canisters back to the hiker who had loaned them to us (thanks Phil!). It's not that there weren't any more bears where we were going, but we were no longer legally required to carry the cans, and we were happy to get rid of the heavy, ungainly things. Our packs significantly unburdened, we managed a quick hitch up to Echo Lake Resort where we savored a last few luxuries (wine and cheese!) before hefting our packs in the drizzly afternoon. The trail followed the east shore of the lake, heading towards the Desolation Wilderness boundary where we could make our first camp of this section. The remaining cold and wind from the previous week’s stormy weather chased us into an early bed that night.

Dan and Lisa arrived the next morning on the ferry from Echo Lake. Jan met them at the ferry dock a half mile from where we had camped at the Wilderness boundary while I packed up. The small boat containing our hiking partners pulled up to the dock promptly at 10am and after a short greeting we set off northbound. Aloha Lake shone serenely below the Crystal Range, some of the last granite sawtooth peaks on the northbound PCT until the Trinity Alps, some 500 trail miles north. Deep blue Lake Tahoe was visible from time to time as the trail crested minor saddles and the forest opened up. Dan is an experienced backpacker and mountaineer who had already bagged many of the peak in the area. He proved to be an excellent tour guide for this section, pointing out the highlights and naming the distant summits. We made a rather cozy camp above Fontanillis Lake, Dan and Lisa regaling us with news of the outside world while we ate dinner.

Our weekend companions departed the PCT at lunch the next day, bound for Highway 89 and their normal life. We continued walking north on the PCT, exiting the Desolation Wilderness and entering the Granite Chief Wilderness (which, despite its name, is mainly volcanic in nature). Our route ascended out of the dense pine and fir forests, crossing under several ski lifts of Squaw Valley as the trail re-attained the crest, rewarding our climb with spectacular views to the south. Many of the more prominent peaks and ranges from the previous weeks were visible in the distance, and a few of the peaks and ranges we would be crossing in the weeks to come shone dimly through the haze. Lake Tahoe twinkled brilliantly in the late afternoon sun as a distant thunderstorm hovered massively, bedecked in shades of violet, orange, white, and blue. Wind-gnarled pines provided a measure of protection for our exposed camp high on the ridge below Tinker Knob while the western sky put on a very memorable sunset display for us and the eight or ten fellow travelers who shared our little copse on the ridge.

We roused ourselves out of our sleeping bags relatively early, knowing that real food was only a half day away at Donner Pass. The miles zipped by and we soon found ourselves at the Donner Summit Ski Ranch, where Jan had learned to ski back when they still had a rope-tow and a T-bar. The smell of cheeseburgers powerfully attracted us to the lodge, but unfortunately our resupply was at the post office three miles farther down the road. I insisted on hitching into town, assuring Jan it would be easy; he stubbornly argued that in the time we waited, we could be simply walking the three miles. I refused yet another road walk with my pack. I suggested we go up to the ski ranch, set down our packs, and at the very least "slackpack" (hiking without your backpack) into town. Hiking with a partner is all about communication and compromise, but perhaps most importantly, you have to be able to recognize when your partner is getting hangry. Jan was a textbook case. Before I knew it, Jan had bellied up to the bar and ordered a cheeseburger and a beer. The ski lodge manager told me that he was headed to the post office, and my husband had volunteered me to go. I was so relieved that I didn't have to walk the three miles into town or deal with any low blood sugar crankiness that I didn't even scoff at being volunteered for the chore. I soon returned carrying three resupply boxes. One contained our expected resupply of food, one contained Jan's replacement boots, but what was in the third box? The return address listed Pennsylvania and neither of us could figure out who it was from. It was like Christmas! So exciting!

In one of the more surprising turns of the trail, an old friend and bandmate of Jan's, with whom he hadn’t spoken in nearly nine years, had sent us a care package containing Mountain House meals, Pro Bars, Snickers, and whiskey – all solid trail gold. By now we were eating close to four thousand calories per day and still not getting enough, so this surprise box was welcome indeed (thanks Jon!).

As we were each devouring two brownies a la mode, some hiker friends rolled up. There was talk of whether to get a cheap room at the ski ranch and take advantage of the bar. After a brief moment's thought we opted to hike on. If we weren't careful, we would get sucked into what PCT hikers call “the vortex”: a powerful combined force of inertia, food, and booze that traps unwary hikers in town for days. The best defense against it is hiking on as soon as possible, so we wished them well and got back to the trail.

We crossed under Interstate 80 and put down some fast miles to get back into proper wilderness before setting up camp -- the noise of the freeway traffic wasn't much for making this pretty section of trail particularly peaceful. The roar of the interstate faded to a gentle whoosh and then ceased entirely. We passed a couple days of pleasant hiking through the Tahoe National Forest on our way to our next resupply at Sierra City.

The Sierra City General Store was lousy with "hiker trash" (a term of endearment for the rag tag gangs of dirty hikers that virtually take over small towns up and down the trail during the hiking season).  Jan went inside to investigate the deli as I sorted through our latest resupply box, all of us crowded under the thin strip of shade on the porch of the general store. When Jan returned outside, he informed me that he had ordered a “Gutbuster" - a solid one pound burger. Hungry though I was too, that sounded somewhat terrifying and intestinally distressing. I watched him destroy it in five minutes. Impressed, I asked him how he felt afterwards and he said "Good! Let's get ice cream!" Prudently, I suggested we hold off for an hour or so.

Having achieved Step 1 of all town stops -- post office and food, we were ready for Step 2 -- showers and laundry. Jan walked up the one street in town and found a room at the charmingly named Red Moose Inn (there are no moose within several thousand miles of Sierra City, but hell if it didn't seem quaint!). After showers, laundry at the RV park, ice cream while waiting for our clothes to dry, and beers with some fellow hikers, a group of us gathered at one of the two restaurants for dinner. Jan's burrito was the straw that broke the camel's back. He went to bed groaning with indigestion. I comforted him, recalling my own same experience back in Lone Pine with some excellent chocolate chip cookies from the local bakery, an affogato from the local cafe, and Chinese take-out while we watched TV in our room. Such was the risk and reward of civilization.

The next day’s hike promised a five-thousand foot climb out of the Yuba River valley up to the Sierra Buttes to regain the Pacific Crest. Lucky for us, trail angel and Appalachian Trail thru hiker Spirit Bear offered to drive a number of our packs up to the summit so that we could slackpack the climb. About eight of us gladly took her up on her offer, and after breakfast, the nine mile climb took only three short hours. There is a fire lookout tower perched on the very top of the Buttes that affords a 360-degree panorama, where on clear days you can see south to the Crystal Range above the Desolation Wilderness, and north all the way to Lassen Peak, well over one hundred miles away. On this day, however, smoke and thick haze whitened the sky, so we were content to skip the 1½ mile uphill detour to the summit. We collected our packs from Spirit Bear’s van and followed the trail as it stayed high on the northward trending crest, but this time in thick reforested stands of Douglas Fir and Jeffrey Pine. We made camp on a densely forested ridge and enjoyed our dinner on a small outlook with impressive views to the northeast. We watched two distant towering cumulus clouds slowly turn from white to orange to pink and at last dark purple as the towering cloud tops caught the last rays of sunlight an hour after the sky had gone dark. After dinner we were drawn back to the lookout for the evening performance as the two thunderclouds dueled with silent explosive lightning. It was long past “hiker midnight” (nine o’clock) by the time we finally turned in.

Two days of hiking the crest-top brought us into Plumas National Forest and to the deep canyon of the Middle Fork Feather River. Abruptly our trail began a steeply switchbacked descent. The Jeffreys and Douglas Firs changed to Ponderosa and White Pine and soon these gave way to Black Oak, Manzanita, and Mountain Hemlock. Also making a reappearance to the trail were poison oak and rattlesnakes, two nuisances we had left behind as we climbed into the southern Sierra a month previously. We surprised one large rattlesnake (and he surprised us!) as we hurried down the path into the thickening heat, but he was satisfied to slither off into the undergrowth after giving a short warning rattle. The river is straddled by a magnificent arching steel and wood equestrian bridge that takes hikers one hundred feet above the rapids. We took an extra-long lunch break by the river, reluctant to leave the cool riverbank and begin the steep hot climb out of the canyon.

After regaining the crest and hiking a day through dense forest, recent clear cuts, and decades-old clear cuts now overgrown with Manzanita, we again gave up our altitude, this time into the canyon of the North Fork Feather River and the town of Belden. Again we passed out of alpine elevations and into chaparral and oaks. At the bottom of the climb the trail crossed the Union Pacific tracks and a joined a dirt road. Massive tangles of ripe blackberry brambles grew below the railroad grade, sunning themselves like inviting barbed wire. Braving the thorns, we tore into the berries, staining our fingertips and mouths black with the sweet-tart fruit.

A few steps down the road and we began to see the detritus of the previous weekend’s festivities. Belden’s main claim to fame is that every weekend of the summer they host a massive rave attended by thousands of half-naked, dancing hedonists tripping their balls off on electronic music, booze, and heroic doses of psychotropic drugs. The brightly colored inflatables (now sadly flaccid) and empty bottles were being policed up half-heartedly by a small team of partied-out young men. We were very glad we had showed up on a Tuesday and not over the weekend.

We cleared out of the glorified trailer park / campground and across the river to the trailhead parking lot, hoping for a sign of somewhere else to stay. An older but fit woman in a white Toyota pickup was there, seemingly waiting for something. Two hikers were waiting patiently in the cab with her, so when she leaned across them and cheerfully shouted for us to walk faster, we did. But before this trail angel would give us a ride back to her hiker hostel, she laid down the rules: “No drugs, no alcohol, no intoxication. If you have a problem with those rules you can pick up your resupply package and hike on.” A quiet sober afternoon sounded like exactly what we needed, so we hefted our packs into the bed and squeezed in beside the other hikers.

The Braatens are a couple of avid hikers who bought a house in Belden with a separate wing just to accommodate thru hikers. Brenda Braaten has also published a well regarded book on long distance hiker nutrition and gives a talk every year at the PCT kickoff celebration. There were fresh fruit and vegetables from their impressive garden, freshly baked wholesome cookies and muffins, and piles of resupply boxes. They didn’t charge a dime for any of this. They only asked that hikers respect their house and follow the rules. We quickly stuffed some money into the donation jar after chowing down on fistfuls of garden fresh green beans. Our resupply package was located at the Caribou Crossing General Store, about quarter mile down the highway along the river. We walked past modern day prospectors working their dredges in the river, sucking up the gold rich sediment and sifting out the flakes of gold. No one ever got rich mining this way, but there is still a very dedicated group of people bringing gold out of the hills that gave California its motto.

The Caribou Crossing store had outstanding milkshakes, laundry facilities, a small resupply selection, and air conditioning, so we comfortably passed a few hours there to collect our sundries and wash our clothes. After, we headed back to the Braaten’s private sandy beach along the river. The water was the perfect temperature for an afternoon swim and we passed several more hours swimming and laying on the warm sand. A river otter swam up, barking at us and diving to the river bottom to pull up freshwater mollusks. A bald eagle carrying a trout in its talons whooshed past up the river. This, we said in characteristic understatement, did not suck.

Unfortunately, the heat didn't abate with sunset, and it was oppressively hot that night in the tiny bedroom at the Braaten's hiker house. We managed to get a few hours of sleep, but by 5am we were up and ready to go. The climb out of Belden is the longest continuous stretch of climbing on the entire PCT – thirteen miles and seven thousand feet. We intended to get started before the sun was up to minimize the time we would have to spend climbing in the blazing heat of the lower altitudes.

Climb we did. The grade wasn’t steep – Brenda had called it a “handicap ramp” – but it was relentless. Up and up we climbed, out of the chaparral and oak, then oak and incense cedar, and finally back into alpine forests. To make matters worse, the last few miles of this section of trail had not been maintained in several years and a couple of major windstorms had turned the forest into a war zone of fallen trees and branches. Every hundred yards we would have to climb over a tree in the path, or detour up poor tread around deadfall that was too large to climb over. Such hiking is exhausting and frustrating, but we eventually made the summit and began to contour near the summit as we crossed into the Lassen National Forest. We came upon a huge tree that had fallen across the trail, obstructing it in three places. A crew of maintenance volunteers on horseback sat considering the massive obstacle. They eventually decided the challenge was too great even for their horses and chainsaws, and decided to refer the problem to the Forest Service.

The quality of the trail improved markedly after we passed the crew, as they had been making their way south from Lassen clearing the trail. Finally, after our longest day of walking (twenty-six miles!) on our longest day of climbing, we reached our day’s goal and set up camp on an elevated saddle with views of Lassen Peak and the surrounding valleys.

The Staghorn Lichens mark the average winter snow depth - here it is about twelve feet.

Lassen Peak (the big roundish one) and Brokeoff (on the left)

By now we were walking about 25 miles a day as a matter of course. We swiftly crossed into Lassen National Park. With stronger hiking stamina, we even opted to take a short detour to see Terminal Geyser. So far we had mostly decided against detours in order to save the time and our legs for the PCT, but we had to see the steaming, sulfur-reeking vent, which is not actually a geyser but a fumarole. A few miles on we passed dead, mint green colored Boiling Springs Lake. All this hydrothermal activity gives testimony to the fact that Lassen Peak is still very much volcanically active. The last eruption there was in 1915 - this event precipitated it being protected as a National Park.

We camped that night near Lower Twin Lake, very close to a section of trail that we had backpacked several years prior. On this trip, however, we wouldn’t have time to relax by the lakes. The next morning (a Saturday), we needed to get to the Old Station Post Office by three PM or we would be stuck there until Monday morning at eleven when they reopened. We had sixteen easy downhill miles to go, so we took our time with breakfast but hiked fast. We shared the trail that day with fifty or more horses in groups of three or four as they walked a weekend endurance ride. We easily made it into Old Station in time, where we resupplied and enjoyed ice cream cones. Walking a few miles further up the trail, we made a pine needle cushioned camp within a quarter mile of the only diner in town and Subway Cave, a huge lava-tube just off the PCT. Our plan was to eat dinner and breakfast at the diner, check out Subway Cave, and then hitchhike to Burney, skipping a thirty mile waterless/shadeless hike across Hat Creek Rim. We’d already walked through two deserts, thankyouverymuch.

We found a ride to Burney within ten minutes and enjoyed the rest of our day off eating pizza, drinking beer, and catching up with other hikers that had also found their way into the pizza joint.

The next morning, we hitch hiked up to the trailhead. After a few miles walking down the warm and very dusty track we came upon a gaggle of hikers clustered around a PCT trail angel station. The angels had built a pantry filled with emergency supplies, a solar panel-driven charging station, shower stall, dart board and some chairs for hikers to relax in, right there in the middle of the trail. Unfortunately, we had just resupplied and were stuffed to the gills from breakfast and so had no excuse to stay and enjoy the amenities. Onwards we pressed towards Burney Falls, the temperature steadily rising as the fine red dust stuck to our sweaty legs. We startled another rattlesnake sunbathing by the trail. This one refused to yield. We made a wide detour around it and continued on.

Past the Pit River dam and up a hill we climbed in alternating exposed chaparral and black oak until we came upon a bridge over deep Rock Creek, the last good water for some miles. We took a break to lounge in the cool water of the creek. Sitting in the shade of the bridge, talking to the other hikers, it was hard to get moving again. But soon the sun sank lower and the trail started to get some shade from the uphill side, so we hiked on to take advantage of the cooling hours.

The next few days got progressively hotter, even at our six-thousand feet elevation. We continued to follow the ridgelines north and to the west, sweating in the 90+ degree heat and dust. Mt. Shasta was our constant companion and a mirage of sorts with its snow-covered flanks. Then the trail rounded a ridge, turning to the west, and we were greeted with our first views of Castle Crags. The sharp granite peaks and spires beckoned us across the valley through the haze of multiple wildfires. We knew it would be a sweaty time descending into the summer inferno in order to get there.

Shasta

Shasta by sunset

Indeed, the next day we hiked down into Castella and 100+ degree temperatures. We were hellbent on getting our resupply and hiking right out (and up!) as soon as possible. It was not to be. We stopped at Ammirati's Market, the general store attached to a Chevron gas station and the only thing in Castella. We picked up our box, the biggest yet. Sent by our friend George (thanks George!), it was stuffed to the gills with the best junk food you could imagine. As we pulled out package after package of goodies (Double Stuff Oreos, Reese's PB cups, Snickers, Doritos, Pirate's Booty, beef jerky, almonds, PB-filled pretzels, and a bottle of Jack Daniel's), we delighted in figuring out how we were going to fit it all in our packs. The best problem!

Jan went inside Ammirati's to purchase an ice cream and a canister of fuel for our stove. He returned with only the ice cream. They didn't have any fuel. Isobutane is easily the most common kind of canister fuel used by backpackers. Ammirati's is the last, and only, stop along the trail until Ashland, Oregon -- 200 miles away. They had PopTarts and ice cream and sandwiches and sodas and beer and soap and cereal and toilet paper... but no fuel? It was a cruel joke. 100 degrees suddenly seemed like 150 as we fumed and fretted in the boiling shade. I got my own ice cream as a consolation prize and considered cold-soaking all our meals for the next week. It sounded unpalatable and the heat was making us both cranky. The nearest towns were Dunsmuir and Mt. Shasta, both known for having good outdoor outfitters and actual amenities, but that meant a long and difficult hitch. The PCT Class of 2015 Facebook Group had been blowing up with warnings of impossible hitchhiking in this area, and in fact there was an electronic billboard posted over the 5 Freeway (which runs directly through Castella, Dunsmuir, and Mt. Shasta) warning drivers not to pick up hitchhikers. It was beginning to look like we were totally hosed.

Clearly we had to come up with a plan for our last week of meals, but the heat and the stress of the situation had us both mentally blocked. We opted to get some beer, hike over to the Castle Crags State Park, and camp the night in relative luxury (flush toilets! coin showers! a designated PCT hiker campsite for only $3!). This would give us some time to at least rest and if not come up with an alternative solution, accept our fate. So off we went with armfuls of snacks, our six pack of beer sweating in the heat, and a mission to wait out the afternoon swelter. We set up camp and washed down both bags of chips with a couple of beers each. At this point, Jan got it into his head to walk along the train tracks to Dunsmuir and get us some fuel there. If it meant I didn't have to move in the heat, I was game. So I took off the top part of my backpack (which converts into a day pack), stuffed it full of water and snacks, gave him a kiss good luck, and he walked off into the heat waves. While I read my book and tried not to let any of my limbs touch, Jan walked through six miles of Hades into Dunsmuir, sustaining himself on the abundant blackberries that grew alongside the railroad tracks. Once in Dunsmuir, we were to be damned again. No fuel anywhere! Five outfitters later and another six miles back to camp, it was clear that if we were going to continue on we were just going to have to eat a lot of energy bars, trail mix, and a few cold-soaked meals. It didn't sound great, but ending our trip on this note sounded a hell of a lot worse. So we cracked open the bottle of Jack Daniels, shared it around the hiker camp (which had since accrued about ten other hikers), and made the best of the situation. All was not lost, however! Luck would have it that one of the hikers was getting off the trail the next morning, so he gave us the last of his fuel. There wasn't much left in the canister, but we were confident that at the very least we could heat up enough water each morning for coffee. Priorities!

Another hot, sleepless night later, we woke up early to hit the trail and get to a higher and hopefully cooler elevation. Ten miles in, we hadn't yet climbed up Castle Crags much, but the oak forest was shady and offered the occasional stream. This was the last pleasantry of the day. Soon we were climbing up an exposed, rocky trail that felt very much like the Sierras all over again. But this time it was easily 100 degrees. With heat exhaustion creeping up on me with every step, tears sprang to my eyes. This hateful heat! This hateful climb! Why the hell were we doing this?! Jan recognized the signs of a meltdown approaching and got me to stop in the shade to cool down. I could see our day's hiking group coming up behind us and my feminist ego wiped away the tears and stepped back into the wretched torment. I would not let those guys see me cry!

Six miserable miles uphill, we arrived at the first decent rest spot since the shady oaks far below. Some water, some shade, and the end of the steepest part of the climb was good excuse to set down our packs and cool off for a while. The last of our group dragged in absolutely drenched, wrung the sweat out of his bandana and pronounced, "That was dumb." It could not have been expressed better. It was five o'clock in the afternoon by the time we continued moving. The heat abated a little. There was more shade and the steep grade had leveled a bit. We practically skipped up the rest of the mountain, leaving Castle Crags farther and farther behind us. We stopped for the night on an exposed ridge, tucked into a tiny circle of low-lying Manzanita. The wildfires' haze had intensified and through all the smoke we couldn't see the surrounding ridges, but we did get a magnificent sunset. Seemingly no sooner than we fell asleep, we were roused by the flashes of nearby lightning and some rumbles of thunder. At around midnight, we were forced out of bed to cover our packs, but we quickly fell back asleep to the gentle tapping of light rain on the tent. Pure exhaustion from the day eased any concerns we would normally have about camping on an exposed ridge during a thunderstorm.

Shasta with no snow

The next day was even hazier, but what we missed in views was made up for in cooler weather. Intermittent rain showers cooled us off further as we hiked. We crossed into the Trinity Alps Wilderness the following day, and our mood was downright celebratory. The weather was perfect, the views had cleared a tiny bit, the landscape was familiar, and we realized that it was almost a year ago to the day that we had decided to go on this crazy adventure, in this very place. Serendipitous! Just before we reached the Russian Wilderness, we were treated to wild raspberries lining the path. We tucked in, feeling like our luck had finally turned around. Cold-soaked food wasn't that bad when you had the sweetest sun-warmed raspberries to eat!

Lassen is just visible center right on the horizon, about 140 miles to the south.

But as the trail goes, nothing lasts forever. We had heard of the Russian Wilderness' beauty, and it would remain only hearsay as the winds changed direction and we were hiking through a dense smokey haze. Our eyes and lungs burned, we couldn't see anything, and even the forest turned to apocalyptic blackened spires. This was an odd confluence of past and current fires with zero visibility and eerie surroundings. We passed the time by talking extensively about our "celebrity exceptions" and what we were going to do when we finished the trail in a day. When we made camp that night, we selected the only flat spot in a ten mile stretch. Soon enough, our camp became a group camp and we were delighted to have some trail friends arrive as we were eating dinner. They knew the end was near for us and we candidly spoke of our relative relief and jealousy. The trail is a mixed bag of emotions. As excited as we were to get off the trail and return to our "regular lives", this had become our regular life. We wanted to continue walking with them. They wanted to get off the trail with us. We wanted to go home. They wanted to finish at the border of Canada. All of these opposing feelings existed at the same time.

That night, Jan made a good campfire and sat alone into the night with his thoughts. I laid in my sleeping bag, staring at the stars and unable to fall asleep. My heart was heavy and I longed for sleep, yet I was so anxious to get off the trail that I couldn't settle down.

Somehow, the morning came and we ate our cold oatmeal with reasonable enthusiasm. Only nine miles to go! I set my usual blistering "town pace" and got us to the road in record time. Our dear friend Brian (thanks Brian!) pulled up in our car and produced a bottle of bubbly with which we toasted to our success and the end (for now) of our adventure. We had hiked over 1,600 miles from the bottom of California to the top - through the deserts and the southern mountains, through snowstorms and heat and thunderstorms, over pass after pass, across cold creeks, and ever northward. Along the way we lost a little weight, but gained dozens of new friends. Most importantly, three months of living on the trail had whittled away the chaff of modern life, revealing to us what was truly important for our happiness and success back in the world. That wisdom gained can be distilled down to a simple phrase - even the most difficult problem can be solved, if you take it one step at a time.

Food, Part Two

When we got off the trail for a few days in June for a wedding, the most common question I got was about food. “How are you eating enough? What are you eating?” Well, the answer depends on when in the hike you asked us.

Month 1:

Breakfast was oatmeal (remember that huge pile from my first food post? THAT.), then we would hike about 5-6 miles. At this point, our stomachs would be growling for sustenance, so we would stop for a snack break. Typically this meant trail mix, dried fruit, and/or granola bars. Then we would hike another 5 or so miles and stop for lunch – peanut butter on pita plus more snacks. Afternoon snacks were a repeat of morning, but we could usually get a few more miles in and to our usual 20 mile mark. Dinners were any of the 14 varieties of pasta/rice/potato I prepared ahead of time. Hunger came and went with a regularity that felt expected. Satiation wasn’t difficult.

Month 2:

Breakfast was still oatmeal and still surprisingly tasty. I had made about 5 varieties so we wouldn’t have to eat the exact same kind every morning. The rarer dehydrated eggs & potatoes weren’t as appealing as they had been, despite their better “staying power.” I chalk it up to the addition of cheddar cheese powder, which has an off-putting orange hue that seemed extra neon first thing in the morning. Instant coffee made an almost daily appearance into our morning routine. We were hiking harder miles now in the Sierras and our breaks were similar, but the consumption larger. Sometimes we would only take two breaks a day since our mileage was diminished, but we would sit for a solid hour and eat almost the entire time. Tortillas replaced pitas for better portability and instant hummus was a welcome break in the peanut butter routine. Water wasn’t as much of an issue as it was in the desert, so we regularly took an afternoon break for tea & chocolate. In retrospect, this wasn’t sufficient intake even though it was enjoyable. Snickers made its first steady appearance.

The biggest food lesson was during the second month, seeing that although we were eating to fullness during our breaks, this wasn’t providing sufficient calories to sustain us. Big hiking requires constant consumption, not just big consumption.  9 times out of 10, bad attitudes were due to low blood sugar, even if our stomachs weren’t giving us the expected cues. Also, you cannot regain enough calories in town to make up for what you lost during your backcountry forays between resupply stops.

Month 3:

“Hiker Hunger” hit. Within an hour of breakfast (still oatmeal!) we were hungry. However, we had also learned that our dismal attitudes from Yosemite were primarily hunger-driven, so now we took to stashing bars in our pack hip belts. Requirements of this snack were only that it needed to be compact, handheld, and easy to eat while walking. That snack (or two for Jan) carried us to about mile 8-10 of the day, when we would stop for lunch – tortillas with peanut butter, hummus with crackers, and a variety of high calorie snacks (read: junk food). We would restock our hip belts for the afternoon and hike another 8-10 miles, take a break that looked just like the first, and finish out the day. Our town stops became opportunities to stock up on the high calorie/low weight junk food as much as refueling with burgers, fries, milkshakes, and beer.  Towards the end of our trip, I dusted off an entire bag of Pirate’s Booty and an entire bag of Doritos in one sitting and felt just fine (perhaps even a sense of accomplishment!).

Snacks for only 4 days (not pictured: bread, 2 avocados, a roll of Ritz and some Oreos). Yes, we ate all of this.

If I could offer one main takeaway of feeding yourself on a long-distance trek, it would be that variety really is the spice of life. The range of oatmeal additions (and occasional instant eggs & potatoes) and mix of dinners saved us from getting burnt out too quickly on any one food. There were certainly hits in the mix (Beefy Noodle Bowl) and duds (Indian Dal with rice & veggies), but we never had to eat anything more than once a week. That saved us from some serious food misery. Being excited to eat makes breaks all the more enjoyable on the trail, and conversely, being put off by your options makes the break seem like a chore. I might not reach for a bag of trail mix anytime soon, and Jan won’t even look at a Clif bar, but we both still love peanut butter.

Trail Names

Everyone gets a trail name. Who knows what the origin of this tradition is, but it certainly helps distinguish hikers when they have ridiculous or funny names. Hell, we met five Andrews in the first week alone! In a month or two, they would all be emaciated white dudes with solid beard growth, complicating any ability to identify them.

There are two main ways one gets a trail name: choose it yourself or risk being given one. You can certainly reject a bad or ill-fitting trail name (to a certain degree), but you better have a quick replacement or the first one will stick.  Jan and I were both unenthusiastic about this aspect of the trail, but within the first week it became increasingly apparent that we needed trail names. We needed them for people to remember us, because amidst names like Lone Star and Lightswitch, Jan and Alyssa really don’t ring any bells.

Ten days in, as we descended from Mt. San Jacinto and met some new hikers (all with trail names, natch), we discussed our name options. Jan had been offered some less-than-satisfying appellations and I couldn’t come up with anything fiercer or cleverer than Poppy or Mouse. As we refilled our water in a fresh snowmelt stream, I casually suggested “Quixote” to Jan. It has been his nom de plume for a couple years and his name in all Shell Corporation media. I expected the usual swift and sound rejection. In fact, I fully expected that Jan would reject all trail names for the entire trip. What I got was a contemplative “huh” and a face flushed with subtle satisfaction. Nailed it. Quixote it was.

I brooded for the next hour, still nameless while Jan had a fitting and cool-sounding name. I huffed and puffed my way down the mountain, still wearing my thermals under my hiking clothes to ward off the snowy chill, dealing with a bit of an identity crisis. Was I a White Fang or a Moon Flower? A Sugarteef? As our elevation dropped below snow levels, I was sweating with the effort under the extra suffocating layers.  I paused on the empty trail to shed some layers. It was going to be a quick change so I didn’t bother going behind a tree or anything. (This was before I knew anything about the great variety of hiker pace.) Hiking pants around my ankles and bent at the waist -- my derrière facing the trail -- I heard a whistle come through the trees loud and clear. I darted upright, pulling my pants with me, but too late. Dreadlocks swinging with a quick and efficient pace, One Step gave me a sly grin and cautioned me. “If you’re not careful, you’re going to get a trail name that way!” he said as he chuckled and passed.  I groaned, imagining the options.

A mile later, in the fresh early morning tread, I came across some writing in the soft dirt of the trail: “Sweet Moon Pie”. Sweet Moon Pie? It was readily clear by the light trail traffic that morning that this was a message for me. I laughed at the ridiculousness of it and told Jan there was no way I was going to keep such a stupid trail name. I wanted something badass. I wanted something clever. I didn’t want something that was 3 words and had a junior high style backstory. But another mile later, we rounded a corner to some hikers taking a break. One of them called out, “Is that Sweet Moon Pie coming?!” There was nothing to be done but respond cheerfully, “It is!” Here was a hiker that didn’t know me, certainly didn’t know my real name, but recognized me based on the quick tale One Step had relayed and greeted me with all the gregariousness of any long-distance hiker.  How could I ignore such camaraderie and silliness?

So in 2015 trail registers across California, you can see Quixote and Sweet Moon Pie marking their progress northward. For your enjoyment, here is a list of the friends we met on the PCT:

Paint

Sunflower

Lone Star

Hardy (aka Bear Can)

Lightswitch

Dr. Dog

Poppins

Smiles

Patches

Scorpia (Queen of the Scorpions, she slept on one for an entire night in the desert and went unharmed)

Firefox

Seventy (aka Cactass, a trail name he tried to reject but those who met him early on knew well the story of the guy who accidentally sat down on a cactus)

Platypiss (no matter how cold, no Platypus water bladder should be used this way, but he did swear he got rid of it afterwards)

One Step

Devil Fish

Whatever

Taxi

Lomax

8 Track

Tarzan

Obiwan

Freefaller

Spaceworm

Spiller

EWalk

Podcast

Hooker

Crazy Cat Lady

Resident Cowboy

Bigfoot

Slowpoke

MacGuyver

Merman (a flowing red mane of hair and beard certainly did give him an Ariel-esque appearance)

Splob (check out his comics!)

Penguin (aka Guino)

Sunkissed

Coppertone (trail angel extraordinaire and maker of root beer floats)

Antsy

Cliffhanger

Coyote

Count (he fastidiously counted all his calories to ensure he wouldn’t run out of food between resupplies)

Mosey

Lobo

Attila the Bun

JudStep

Ellen Boxers

KaraOke

Princess Hubcap

Rat Water

Nordic Trak

Radar

Molly Molly

Nimble

Rusty

Spirit Bear

Hufflepuff

Fill/Phil

Professor

Sherlock (he might be going into the FBI, but he’ll never tell)

Nell

Titan

Shenanigans

Nutella

Bugzapper

Donuts

Waffle

Little Foot

Love It O Leave It

Rainbow

Tiki Mon

Dr. Dre

Big Cheese

Chronic the Hedgehog

Apache

Stopwatch

Steady Eddie

Unicorn

Lucky

Hitchbait (a lovely young woman who was, as all girls are, the best way for her & her boyfriend to successfully hitchhike)

Pops

Chilly Willy

Lancelot

Siesta

Jobs

Foxtrot

Thin Mint

J Walk

Dilly

Dally

Half Time

Double Time

Seabass

Skeeter Bait

Nemo

Fancy Feet

Iron Husk

Poncho

Dandy

Beta

Boomer

Hiccups

StoneFly

Chickadee

We walked.

Lightning, when heard from extremely close range, sounds nothing at all like the boom-crashhhhh of lightning at safer distances. There's a bright flash accompanied by ten 12-gauge shotguns firing all at once, and in our case, a shower of sparks emanating from an electrical transformer mounted on a power pole just across the street. 

Luckily, we were safe inside a bus, but it was a startling reminder that lightning in the mountains is a genuine threat. And here we were on our way higher up the mountain to regain the trail after our short break in Mammoth. 

We made it back to Red's Meadow without further excitement, and after a chocolate milkshake at the small diner we headed off down the rain-soaked trail. 

Shortly we arrived at Devil's Postpile, a geologic feature that was only barely saved from miner's dynamite by its protection as a national monument.

 

A few miles later we found a suitable campsite along the middle fork San Joaquin River. We fell asleep to the rush of the water, our equipment safely stowed from the promise of overnight storms. 

We had one more pass to climb before crossing into Yosemite National Park and what we hoped would be an easing of the strenuousness of the trail. We had no idea how wrong we were. 

An afternoon thunderstorm chased us over Donohue Pass at record speed, with Alyssa leading the charge across the exposed summit before the very dark storm clouds closed in on us. With barely a pause at the top to regain our breath, we charged down the other side, and just in time. As we reached the tree line the steady rain turned to a torrent of dime-sized hail. We sheltered under a paltry stand of Foxtail Pines until the downpour passed, then carefully picked our way down the over the slickened rocks. Fighting the usual battle against the mosquitos, we ate dinner and tucked ourselves in to the sound of light rain on the tent punctuated by the lingering crashes of distant thunder.  

The ten or so miles to our resupply at Tuolumne Meadows the next morning flew by as the entire route was a nearly level stroll down a wide meadow-filled valley. 

The hiker and tourist circus that was the Tuolumne Meadows Store was a startling change from the perfect solitude of the high Sierra, and we found an unoccupied picnic table far enough away from the crowds to keep us happy. The post office staff was apparently sick of the circus as well and had designated 3:00 pm as the official hiker box pickup time -- Don't even bother trying to get your box at other times. With two hours to kill I requisitioned a box of Cabernet, a box of Ak-Mak, and a wheel of goat cheese to enjoy in the meanwhile. Pleasantly lubricated by the wine and warm sun, we collected our box at the appointed hour, divided up the goods between us, and departed with another PCT couple also on their way north. Our goal that evening was Glen Aulin campground, some six miles on. 

Again chased down the trail by an imposing thunderstorm, we made excellent time over the glacial-polished granite and past two magnificent waterfalls. That night the rain on the tent was heavier, but had relented by the time we lazily readied ourselves the next morning. 

We left later than normal, and with less enthusiasm than normal. The trail steepened, then steepened some some more. Morale plunged, then plunged more. Luckily the rain left us alone that day, as through the two vertical climbs and equally vertical descents we managed only fourteen miles that day. The next day was the same routine - straight up the side of a steep valley, then straight down the other, followed by straight up the next. Morale dropped even lower. We each began making plans to get off the trail as soon as possible. Despite the magnificence of the surroundings, we were too tired to care, and in any case too preoccupied looking at the trail so as not to break a leg, to ever look up and enjoy the scenery. I made a fire on the second night to keep away the swarms of mosquitos. This was only partly successful. After three days of this agonizing, muscle-torching routine,  we made a final steep descent into a wide valley, where we turned northwest at a creek to follow the valley gently uphill for six miles past Glen Meadows and Dorothy Lake, and out of Yosemite National Park. 

As soon as we passed into the Herbert Hoover Wilderness of the Toiyabe National Forest, the topography changed. Gone were the glacial-carved granitic domes and valleys of Yosemite. In their place were ruddy volcanic peaks, ridges, and wide-open valleys. We made another bug-ridden camp at Lake Harriet, where we cooked and ate in the tent; neither of us having any more patience for the mosquitos. 

That night we resolved to hitch out to Bridgeport at Sonora Pass. We were both approaching terminal burnout, and were beginning to ask ourselves what the point of all this was. When you start to ask that question, then what's the point? It was time for some real R&R so that we could retake the trail with fresh eyes and really enjoy the journey that we were on. 

Just resolving to take a step back improved our moods dramatically. The next morning we took our sweet time eating breakfast and actually enjoying the campsite and lake. We finally started hiking after ten in the morning, but who cared? We lunched by a creek as very dark clouds began gathering to the east, which was fine with me as long as they stayed to the east. 

The trail led us steadily (but not steeply) up, and soon we came to a junction above the tree line - one trail switchbacking up Emigrant Pass and our trail switchbacking up to Leavitt Peak. We attacked the old jeep road with a crisp pace and were soon awarded with an incredible view of deep violet storms to our East contrasting with the blue white and grey of the clouds and peaks to our south. 

Up we climbed, then leveled and followed the 11,000 foot ridge as it undulated northward. To our left the mountain dropped off steeply to a valley and lake some 1,500 feet below. To our right the hill rose for twenty feet before dropping precipitously about eight hundred feet to Leavitt Lake. This section could easily be fatal in a heavy snow year.  

Thankfully, the snow huddled only in small patches and the storms remained safely crackling off to the east. 

At long last we reached the descent to Highway 108 and Sonora Pass. We had hoped to hitch into Bridgeport that night, but by the time we reached the road there was almost no traffic daring the pass in the darkening evening. The one driver who stopped turned out to be lost, so we gave him directions and sent him on his way. We decided we would have better luck in the morning. 

We pitched our tent in the deepening afternoon, spirits again high that we would soon be enjoying a hotel, showers, and real food. As we finished dinner the setting sun broke under the overcast, illuminating the massive thunderstorms in the most spectacular display I might have ever seen. I was suddenly very grateful that we hadn't found a ride, as we might have missed this bit of magnificence. 

After a few days off in Bridgeport and South Lake Tahoe, we'll be recharged and ready to take on the next month of hiking, one step at a time. 

Sierra Wildflowers

I could write volumes about how these little beauties saved me from a multitude of fatigue-induced bad moods, but instead I will just offer you their beauty. Hopefully they will bring you the same cheer and resolve that they did for me.