I arrive at the Mexican border.
I take an Uber from the San Diego airport to Campo, California, where the Pacific Crest Trail starts. The driver, Oscar, has never heard of the Trail. He is totally blown away in the best way possible. He asks me all of the typical questions about thruhiking- “what do you eat? Don’t you get tired? What about animals?” I smile to myself, thinking that this is almost a better way to start the Trail than with friends or the shuttle-the excitement is so good.
I walk up the road from the general store in Campo, towards the monument. I am waiting for when this will feel real in my body and my heart-rather than just a walk up the road with a heavy backpack.
The monument is there, next to the huge border wall. I don’t remember it looking this way last time-but everything is so impossibly green around me, green and alive. The colors don’t seem real, they are so bright.
The southern terminus PCT monument.
I start the PCT. Stepping onto the trail, some unseen force enters my legs-I settle into a pace; and they fluidly move as they know to do. I am home.
I walk back to the CLEEF campground, which is the new volunteer-run campground near the border for brand-new hikers. It is utterly wonderful. In the evening, volunteers Papa Bear, Onespeed and Just Paul come out to the shelter to give a talk to the hikers around the campfire. They offer gentle advice and education about the challenges of the trail-water management in the desert, heat and cold, snow, snakes.
PapaBear educates the hikers about water in the desert.
I consider how different this feels than the old kickoff parties that the PCTA used to throw at mile 20. My year, hundreds of people converged. There were events and gatherings that went late into the night, kind of in the style of a festival. As a brand new, frightened PCT hiker, I was totally overwhelmed by it all. This feels like night and day to that-small, gentle, intimate. I talk to most of the people staying at CLEEF that night, about 13.
I start moving in the morning after coffee with OneSpeed and Just Paul. The weather is coolish, with big puffy clouds moving across the sky. Onespeed told us that 2 days ago, it had been 101 degrees there. The temperature has fallen 50 degrees.
PapaBear, Just Paul, me, Onespeed. Thanks guys!!
The trail looks unrecognizable to me. Water is running everywhere; there are hundreds of flowers blooming from every rock crevice, many that I have never seen before. I leapfrog throughout the day with most of the people from CLEEF last night. I chat with some of them-Caroline from Denmark, two brothers in their 60s from Michigan, a group of 4 who came in on the shuttle.
Thousands of flowers, running water.
In the afternoon, I rise onto a dusty plateau-this finally feels familiar. I chat with Pirrette, from Burgundy France, and Maurice, a 60-year-old mouthy Irishman with long silver hair and snappy grey eyes living in London. In the evening we enter Hauser Creek together-already four people have set up their tents. We settle in, and slowly the rest of the CLEEF residents from the night before enter. There is a completely delightful French couple, who spent all of Covid in New Zealand. We all sit in a big circle around the campfire ring, to eat dinner. It is so, so easy. We joke and laugh, and talk about the day, and where we are from.
A frog chirps from the creek.
“Ooo, frog legs! …..you eat them here?” Queries the Frenchman.
“If you go catch him and prepare some, I will definitely try them,” I joke.
“Well, but we would need like…fifty frogs. And you need butter and garlic.” He pauses. “And you don’t eat the rest of the frog.”
God, I love the French.
I settle into my tent. They light a fire in the fire pit. Their voices rising and falling, set with the backdrop of the bubbling creek and the as-yet-still-free chirruping frog, rock me to sleep. For me, for reasons unknown, there is no deeper rest than this-no greater emotional safety. I hiked 15.2 miles today, day 1 on the PCT.
The next morning I am surprised to hear everyone around me up and packing at 6 am. I feel the urge to get going, too-it’s funny how the sound of everyone around you getting ready to leave is so motivational. I start hike at 7:30, up out of Hauser Creek.
I hike the first half of the hill alone, then am joined by Maurice the Irishman. It feels great to to crest the hill-a feeling I’m sad to say I haven’t really had in months. We walk together into Lake Morena. We both get milkshakes at the general store. Every seat outside is filled with hikers.
I ask the man working at the store if they have a spigot for water. “No, your best bet is to use the water machine outside”, he says. I take a look-it is one of those machines you pay to refill your gallon jugs. It charges $.50 per gallon.
“Hey, who wants a liter? Come line up”, I say generally to the patio. 3 hikers obediently come up with their Smartwater bottles. We quickly switch out 3 of them in a row, trying not to waste any water. “That’s all the adrenaline I’m expelling today,” I joke.
I walk out of Lake Morena. Maurice continues on at his faster pace. I walk into the evening, really feeling the miles now-the last five hundred feet of elevation gain feel impossibly hard. I’ve lost conditioning this winter-but it will come back soon. I finally pull into Fred Canyon campsite at 7:00 pm and camp with about 15 other hikers. I hiked 17 miles today, my 2nd day on trail.
I wake up and get moving at about 7:45 from Fred Canyon camp. The weather is foreboding-cold and overcast, with a light misty rain.
Dark, cold, gloomy trail.
The trail gains about 2500 feet up towards Mount Laguna. As I gain elevation, the weather predictably worsens-it gets colder, wetter, and windier. I don’t stop to eat or drink, except to quickly eat a few pieces of dried mango-I hurry on in the cold, wearing almost all of my clothes.
I arrive at Mount Laguna at about 1 pm. Most of the hikers I have met are in one of the 2 restaurants in town, having lunch-Mel and Alex, Pirette, the Belgian couple, and others. Everyone is trying to figure out what to do-there is a campsite about 5 miles farther down the trail.
I order a hamburger and a beer from the French owner. Taking a look around at my surroundings in this French restaurant. I am reminded of the refuges in the Alps- it is kind of sweet to feel a little bit of Europe here.
Next, I take a survey of my situation. Almost everything I have is wet, including all of my hiking clothes-and it’s supposed to get down to around freezing tonight. I have been here before, most recently in Norway-and I haven’t forgotten the absolute misery of a cold, wet night.
Maurice the Irishman walks in quickly, looking a little shell-shocked. He had missed the turnoff for Mount Laguna and had to backtrack. I call the hostel next to the restaurant-they can accommodate two more hikers. We make the decision to just stay here and dry our clothes and ourselves out. The others continue on to the campsite in five miles.
I walk over to the hostel, quickly in the cold. The bunkhouse is deliciously warm. Three hikers are resting and reading in their bunks-Philip, a Swede who tells me he is actually native Sámi-he is a power-lifter back in Stockholm, but his knee has been giving him trouble, so he zeroed today. When he stands up I am shocked to see how big and powerful he seems, but he has kind eyes and a quick smile. The other two men are from the US. Mike is from Florida and just retired. Jonathan is a young man in his 20s from Arizona who casually mentions that he plans to do 40 mile days once he clears the snow.
Maurice’s grey eyes go wide at this and his eyebrows go into the ceiling.
“40 MILES? You know it’s about the JOURNEY, right?”
I laugh inwardly at this Europe-American culture clash. Pushing miles for the sake of pushing miles is decidedly American, on most counts.
We go to dinner down the street. I just have no appetite at all, but I order a salad to pick at. A few more hikers meet us at the restaurant-Jodi, from Pasadena. We all sit together and then head back to the hostel. I hiked 10.6 miles today, the 3rd day on the trail.
I wake up just before 6. I did not sleep well-the room was hot, and stuffy-but I am poignantly aware that I would have slept much, much worse outside in the storm.
I walk out of Mount Laguna with Maurice, up the road, and reconnect to the trail at the north end of town. Yesterday at lunch the other hikers were musing about whether it is cheating to not retrace your steps and walk the TRUE PCT around town rather than just cutting through town…it makes me smile. These are just not things I care about anymore.
We walk in the windy sunshine. Maurice happily chatters away-his family, his wife, life in London, his childhood in Ireland. I think to myself that stopping after 10 miles really was a good idea yesterday for both of us-it was a gift to the body to take a shorter day like that. Now hiking feels fun again.
Cold, sunny, and windy.
As we walk, Maurice tells me the long narrative of his wife’s kidney transplant journey. She had suffered irreparable kidney damage after her second pregnancy and ended up on dialysis-then they finally got a donor, but the new kidney was damaged in the process of the surgery. She woke up from surgery with no new kidney. Maurice decided in that moment to donate one of his kidneys to his wife.
He turns back in the trail and looks at me with his intense grey eyes.
"It goes to show what you can still achieve on one kidney."
He started the PCT a few days ago on May 2nd. This was the day all those years ago that the kidney surgery happened.
I am struck by sacred gravity in this moment, walking along in the sunny wind-the frailty and beauty of people, just walking around me on this earth-and the profound sense of “togetherness” that this 60-year-old Irishman has just described to me, and a sense of longing that I don’t really have anything like this in my life, though I give my energy and resources often to the people I love.
I take a lunch break at noon and Maurice energetically continues on. Soon I am passed by my crew from the first day-Alex and Mel, and the Belgians. Everyone, it turns out, stayed in bed until 9 am today because it was so cold and rainy. This is exactly why I decided to stay in the hostel last night-experience has taught me that soldiering on into a storm only to have an uncomfortable night does not actually save time.
The Swede, Mike, and Jodi pass by next. The Swede is having big problems with his knee-the pain he that had started to flair up did not go away with a zero day. I feel bad for him-it’s so frustrating to have an issue like this pop up right at the beginning of your hike. There is a physical therapist called Blaze Physio that operates out of a mobile van along the Trail, specifically for issues like this-hopefully he contacts her.
I walk on into the afternoon. The scenery is absolutely jaw-dropping. I vaguely remember this section from last time-but I was so stressed out by the desert and the heat that I don’t think I appreciated the scenery much. Anza Borrego State Park spreads out beneath me, green and brown. Mountains soar up to touch low fluffy clouds. It’s still cold-I am hiking in my down jacket and raincoat and hat-but it isn’t as uncomfortable as yesterday.
I see almost no one later in the day-maybe three hikers that I haven’t chatted with yet. In the evening, I walk down to Sunrise Trailhead to get some water from a tank there for the night. It is getting colder, and windier. I shrink my trekking poles down and put them in my side pockets so I can walk with my hands in my armpits down the trail.
At 6 pm I arrive at a little campsite with three tents already set up that is mostly out of the wind. I quickly set up and jump in my sleeping bag-I make hot tea and lentils, a new recipe I am trying in an effort to eat better on trail. The lentils are hot and delicious, but I woefully realize that I have about double what I can eat-my hiker hunger just hasn’t kicked in yet.
I hear voices outside and stick my head out of my tent fly. Mel and Alex are two of the tents. I call to her.
“Hey! Do you want some hot lentils?”
A cozy camp.
She gratefully accepts a cup of steaming lentils and we all retire back into our tent cocoons. I walked 18.2 miles today, the 4th day on trail.
I get going in the morning just after 8 am. The weather finally is starting to improve-it is sunny and warm. I stop for water at a little stream about 4 miles down the trail. Mel, Alex and the Belgian couple are there. We leapfrog throughout the day, which becomes warmer and warmer as I descend towards Scissors Crossing. There are wildflowers absolutely everywhere, and little fat bees taking full advantage.
The descent towards Scissors Crossing.
Despite the beautiful views and beautiful weather, I feel a bit bored and slumpy in the afternoon for no good reason. So, when I come upon Alex and Mel at the last allegedly non-windy campsite before the road, I opt to just camp with them, even though it’s only 4 pm.
We talk and laugh as we make dinner together. It’s a nice vibe in this little bubble. It ends up being 7 tents in this little area as more hikers stream in throughout the afternoon and evening.
I take a look at my food-it turns out I will need to go into Julian tomorrow morning after all, because I miscounted my dinners. I’ll try to go in and out quickly and then climb up to the 3rd Gate Water Cache, which I camped at last time. I hiked 13.4 miles today, my 5th day on trail.
It is windy in the night after all. My tent is pushed every which way, and I am sleeping on a slant, so I keep sliding to the bottom of the tent in my sleep. Still, when I wake up in the morning, I feel well-rested.
We hike quickly in a line of 4-me, Alex, Mel, Aiden-down the trail towards the road to Julian. A little ways down we find Maurice packing his things up, and he joins us. We get to the road mid-morning. None of these folks have ever hitchhiked in their lives-so I show them how I do it-I take my sunglasses off, let my hair down, and put my thumb out with a wave and a big smile. I hitch with Maurice and the others sit off to the side in an attempt to not overwhelm potential rides with too many hikers.
Maurice pulls out all the stops on his hitch into Julian.
We get a ride in about 15 minutes-a young couple, all smiles, with a tiny car crammed with camping supplies-they just about hollow out a hole big enough for us in the stuff and we squeeze in. I tell Maurice later that it’s so frequently the old-falling apart cars or families with kids that pull over-basically never the gigantic, shiny RVs and Sprinter Vans who could easily fit us. Wealth doesn’t make people more generous, it seems.
We get into Julian and immediately head over to Mom’s Pies, where every hiker is given a free slice of apple pie and a scoop of ice cream. "Gosh, this is the first time I've had my permit checked on trail!" I joke with the girl, as she hands me warm apple pie and vanilla ice cream.
We happily cram into a long table with about 8 other hikers. Everyone is happily talking and eating pie and charging their electronics. It is this connection to other hikers that I craved last year in Europe-people doing what you are doing, going the same direction, enjoying it together.
I buy a few things at the grocery store and ride with a few hikers back to the trail with Kira, a trail Angel who is just running hikers back and forth between the trail and Julian today. Kira tells us about her business, which is financial planning and education. I take her card.
We start hiking up into the San Felipe Hills. The ascent is so gradual-long, winding contours that go forever up, up, up-it is so meditative. I was worried that I would feel bored on the PCT this year-but I have been just loving the gentle long ups and downs-flowers everywhere, birds singing, the big Southern California mountains yawning in the distance. I don’t remember deriving so much pleasure last time-I remember feeling much more focused on the challenge and just in a less happy headspace. We camp a few miles before the 3rd Gate Cache. Cramming into a too-small space with Aiden. I hiked 15.5 miles today, my 6th day on trail.
Maurice and a gigantic barrel cactus.
I get going at 7:45 in the morning, with Aiden and Maurice. Aiden takes off at his faster pace. Maurice and I hike together through the morning and then the afternoon, taking a break at 11, then 2 pm.
The trail winds in and out of rocky contours, with wide-open views in every direction. In the afternoon, we drop down onto a road, then cross a long series of fields.
Fields for miles.
I love this section. Grass, or hay, waves in the warm wind, which smells sweet, like blackberries or wheat. Everything is shimmering in the late afternoon sun. I feel intensely calm. We finally drop down onto San Ysidro Creek, an idyllic glen with a bubbling brook and a white Sandy beach. Maurice immediately sets forth getting his aching Achilles Into the cold water-but I drop my pack and walk up the creek a little ways to find Aiden camped in a little cove of trees. We chat for a little bit, then I head back to the beach to set up my tent.
The sun is setting. One lone frog loudly tries out a few bars of his nightly tune and then falls silent.
“He’s warming up,” I joke to Maurice.
Sure enough, a little later the full chorus of frogs begin to serenade us. I feel surrounded by their song. I lay down to sleep, and the brook bubbles by, and the frogs sing, and an owl settles in the tree above Maurice’s tent-“who WHOO!” He queries.
I fall deeply asleep , and the forest holds me in slumber while it goes about its nighttime business-colorful, alive, and I am a part of it, another creature in its loving embrace.
I hiked 16.3 miles today, my 7th day of the Trail.
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