My Daily Routine on Trail

While I was writing my posts on trail, I spoke a lot about what we were doing every day, and special events that arose in the course of walking, but I never really got down to the nitty-gritty "routine" of things on the trail. For me, this routine was so ingrained that I barely gave it much thought, but I realize that it might be of interest to you to hear what a typical "day on the trail" was really like.

Throughout the Pacific Crest Trail, there are several different lifestyles you lead based on what ecosystem you're currently walking through. Life in the desert, for example, is much different than life in the mountains. So I'm going to break down the different parts of my hike and explain to you hour-by-hour what a typical day of hiking looks like. Hopefully this will give you some insight on what it's really like to walk 2,650 miles. :)


SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA: the desert

Mileage per day: 18-22 miles per day

4:00am - 5:00am:

Wake up. (Usually a little bit before Katie) Get dressed in the tent and crawl out. While I'm packing up my gear, Katie is changing in the tent. I carefully clean and bandage up any blisters on my feet for the day. I eat a quick breakfast on the go and Katie and I break down the tent together. She packs up the tent body and I pack up the stakes and footprint. I hobble around camp for a while until my feet regain feeling. They are always, always sore when I wake up and it takes me a while to walk properly in the mornings. Brush teeth, take a bathroom break.

5:00am - 8:00am:

Start hiking; the goal is to get in as many miles as possible before the heat of the day is too unbearable. My feet are still warming up and until they settle into the rhythm of hiking, I stumble along the trail at a slow speed. It takes about 30 minutes to get into the groove.

8:00am - 8:15am:

Second breakfast. We've gone about six miles and the pop tart from 4:30am is not holding me over anymore. I eat a granola bar with some peanut butter and a few other small snacks, depending on how hungry I am. We can't stop long because we need water and the sun is getting hotter.

8:15am - 12:00pm:

Hiking - it is usually miserable by now. After 9am the sun is brutal and we have to get through the miles as quickly as we can. Our usual goal is to hike "ten by ten", or ten miles by 10:00am. If we get started by 5am each morning, this isn't too difficult. Our next huge goal of the day is to find an appropriate place for lunch. Knowing that we will be there for some time to escape the worst part of the day, we have very specific things we look for: shade and water. If we find water, we can fill up our containers and rinse the dirt out the socks we wore yesterday. They will be hung on the outside of our packs to dry in the sun while we walk. We can't always find water (it depends on the location of the springs) but shade is non-negotiable. If we happen to find a good tree at 11:00am instead of noon, sometimes we'll stop early, especially if the heat is particularly bad that day. 9am until noon is essentially spent scouting out the perfect siesta spot.

12:00pm - 4:00pm:

Afternoon siesta. This is what we look forward to all morning. If we're lucky, we've found a tree with a decent amount of shade. Usually there isn't water, so we have to ration ourselves carefully until dinner. I always have a spare 2L of water that I reserve for cooking dinner, and I try not to drink it during the day. My total water capacity is 6L and if I'm not careful I can drink it all in the course of an afternoon.

During the afternoon siesta we roll out our foam sleeping mats in the dirt, take off our shoes and socks (very important. There's nothing better than the feeling of naked feet after walking all morning) and take naps. Unless I'm really tired, I'm not very good at sleeping in the heat. Instead, I catch up on my journal and make myself lunch. I eat bits and pieces throughout the whole siesta so that I keep myself from getting unnecessarily hungry. Every ten minutes or so we have to rotate where our mats are lying because the sun and the shade shifts around us. Sometimes it disappears altogether, which can be very uncomfortable.

4:00pm - 7:00pm:

If we've been making good time all day, usually we only have five more miles or so to hike after our siesta (sometimes more if we stopped really early.) The goal in these few hours is to find water. If we arrive at it early, we will stop to make dinner where we can replenish our water containers. If we're really lucky, we will have water at our campsite for the night. Unfortunately, this doesn't happen very often. More often than not we will stop to cook, wash up, fill up, and walk a few more miles to dry camp. We need to collect enough water to get us through the next morning, as well. Water sources almost entirely dictate our mileage for the day, and we usually look ahead on the maps to plan out our route so that we can arrive at them in time. People camp together quite a lot in the desert because we walk to where the water is.

Hiking after 5:00pm is my favorite part of the day. The sun is barely starting to set, and as the hours go by, it gets cooler and cooler. Since it is still high summer, it is light out until 9:00pm, but dusk lasts long enough for us to get our final miles behind us.

7:00pm - 9:00pm:

 We find camp (usually a designated spot on trail so we can minimize our impact, though it's not usually hard to find a flat spot to camp in a pinch) and set up our tents. If we've already eaten we have more time to relax in camp. If not, we cook and unpack our gear into our tents. We have plenty of time to socialize before dark. Everyone changes into camp shoes - our feet are stained with dirt by now, as well as any dust that has been kicked onto our legs. Before bed I roll up my pants and scrub down my feet and legs with baby wipes. It takes some muscle power to get the dirt off, but I love cleaning my feet because it feels like a foot massage, and my soles are so sore. If I have blisters, I take out my first aid kit and carefully empty and clean them. I'll leave them unbandaged for the night so they have time to heal. I change into sleep clothes, brush my teeth and crawl into bed to write in my journal. I usually write until it gets too dark to see, and then fall asleep.


CENTRAL CALIFORNIA: the sierra nevadas

Mileage: 15-18 miles per day

7:00am - 8:00am:

It is really cold at 9,000 feet, so we sleep in and wait for it to warm up a little. We do our usual morning routine, getting dressed and packing up. There are a few small alterations to our routine in the mountains: we often have to keep our wool sweaters on for the first hour of hiking until we warm up. I keep mine stashed at the top of my pack instead of at the bottom so I have easy access to it. We also have to contend with a large, plastic bear vault for our food. It keeps my meals organized and un-crushed, but it's a chore to get it to fit in my pack. I put it in last, which means I can get at my snacks quicker when we stop for breaks.

8:00am - 11:00am:

Our big goal of the morning in the Sierras is to get over the mountain pass before second breakfast. We generally are camped only a few miles from the next pass, and each one is spaced about 15-20 miles from the last one, so we climb one pass per day. The morning is spent slowly climbing up the rocky faces from 9,000 feet to 12,000 feet. If the pass approach is only 5-7 miles long, we can usually make it by early afternoon.

11:00am - 11:15am:

Mountain passes act as a great reward system: do some really difficult climbing for a few hours, and be rewarded with an amazing view. It's a great feeling to sit at the top of the world and look down over the landscape. Usually we can see beautiful blue lakes and more mountains stretching in all directions. We pull on all our layers (because we're sweaty and it's really cold and windy at the top) and take a break to eat second breakfast.

11:15am - 1:00pm:

The nice thing about the Sierras is that your elevation is pretty consistent from day to day. You spend all morning climbing up to 12,000 feet, and then you spend the rest of the day descending from the pass and approaching the next one. The next few hours are spent carefully navigating snow fields on the north side of the passes and slowly descending into the valley below. Our goal is to find a gorgeous lake to have lunch beside. It's not a hard task.

1:00pm - 1:30pm:

When we've found the perfect spot, we sit to make lunch and enjoy the amazing views. I usually wish we could stay here all day, or at least spend an afternoon siesta there, as we did in the desert. But we cover much fewer miles in the rigorous Sierras, so we don't have time to stop for hours in the middle of the day. The temperatures are usually in the 70s and perfect for hiking. I'm in heaven.

1:30pm - 4:30pm:

Though we're usually descending in the overall elevation profile, there are many small hills to climb and rocky terrain to navigate. We walk no faster than 2mph, and sometimes slower. It's hard to complain when the scenery is so stunning. There is water everywhere so we have gotten used to carrying no more than 2L at a time. This makes our packs much lighter and easier to carry. We also don't have to plan our day around water sources, since they are quite easy to find.

4:30pm - 5:00pm:

We will still stop early for dinner if we get hungry enough. Between the cold weather and the tough terrain, we have been burning so many calories that we need the energy to keep us going for the next few hours. A warm meal does a lot to revive us. We clean out our pots at the end and pack everything away. Cooking before getting to camp also makes sure that no unwanted guests visit us in the night, looking for leftovers.

5:00pm - 8:00pm:

We cover the rest of our mileage before dark. Campsites can be a little trickier to find in forested and alpine areas, but there are enough of them on this stretch that we manage to find something. We get updates about the trail ahead from southbounding JMT section hikers, so we can plan out our daily routes more accurately. We pitch our tents and quickly bundle into our warmest layers, since it gets cold when it gets dark. Instead of washing myself off with baby wipes, I am usually rewarded with a flowing water source beside our campsite. The only downside? It is glacial runoff and freezing. And though the dust is less prominent here than in the desert, I still enjoy cleaning myself off before bed as best I can. We stay up to talk and then I write in my journal in the warmth of my sleeping bag. We are usually asleep by 8:00 or 9:00.


NORTHERN CALIFORNIA AND OREGON

Mileage: 25-30 miles per day

6:00am - 7:00am:

This section of trail is an interesting blend between desert and mountain life. The days and nights are very warm but there is enough tree cover and water that we don't feel the effects of the heat as in Southern California. We settle into a routine of a 6:00am wake up call. I have my own tent now, so I learn the habits of how to pack up my own stuff in an efficient amount of time. We are usually in a hurry to get going, so I often skip my morning bathroom break and wait until I'm on trail to find a spot. Breakfast is still on-the-go and my hunger is such that I can't hike very long without getting hungry again. I don't have blisters to tend to anymore, but my feet are still sore every morning. I am so used to hobbling around for the first half hour that I don't even notice anymore.

7:00am - 9:00am:

We have found our stride. We walk at a strong 2.5-3mph and with the flat, rolling terrain, we are able to cover a lot of miles each day. The trail can get kind of monotonous through this section, so I find that my favorite parts of the day are breaks. We create a clockwork-like schedule and stop every 5-6 miles, or two hours to catch up with each other.

9:00am - 9:15am:

Second breakfast. We usually tailor our miles to stop at a water source. Water isn't as frequent as in the Sierras, but sometimes we can go up to 15 miles between sources. Fortunately, since we cover miles so quickly now, it isn't as dire as in the desert. We carry about 3L at a time. We snack on granola bars, jerky, dried fruit and peanut butter, and take time to filter our water before moving on.

9:15am - 12:00pm:

This stretch of hiking is mostly spent thinking about lunch. The main goal is to cover at least half - if not more than half - of our miles for the day before stopping to eat. We will suffer through hunger and fatigue if it means we will have fewer miles to hike in the afternoon. Generally this means we will have to cover 15 miles before stopping for lunch, though depending on the difficulty of the terrain, we will stop after anywhere from 12-15 miles.

12:00pm - 1:00pm:

Since we don't take afternoon siestas anymore, and since we can cover more miles in a day, we compromise by taking a long lunch. We often hike alone, at our own paces, but we always make sure to stop as a group for breaks. Lunch is the best part of the day because we can strip off our shoes, pull out our sit-mats and enjoy a leisurely break. We make elaborate lunches and tell each other jokes and stories. We try to find shade and water, but neither one is a necessity. For once, no one is in a hurry to move and we take the full hour to sit, which feels luxurious in a full day of walking.

1:00pm - 7:00pm:

A good lunch usually powers us through the next few miles. We stop for small snack breaks every 2-3 hours or to fill up water. We will have dinner on trail near a water source if convenient, otherwise we'll have an extra snack break and keep pushing until camp. My body gets used to my new eating routine and tells me every two hours to stop for food.

7:00pm - 8:00pm:

We generally try to be in camp by 7:00, since the sun is setting earlier and earlier, and it is usually dark by 7:30 or 8:00. There is a little bit of time to socialize or make dinner, but long days exhaust us. We walk anywhere from 25-30 miles, and by the time we get to camp, everyone just wants to go to bed. Sometimes I skip dinner if I'm too tired to cook. I stop writing in my journal and instead keep notes on my phone, since I don't have time to write everything out. I still clean myself off before bed, but it doesn't take as long since the trail is much less dusty.


WASHINGTON

Mileage: 20-25 miles per day

6:00am - 7:00am:

In a lot of ways, we try to keep the same routine we had through NoCal and Oregon. But the terrain in Washington is much more difficult, and we soon find that we cannot sustain 25 mile days every day. We continue to wake up at 6, though this fluctuates based on weather. If it's raining, sometimes we stay in our tents another hour. It is usually cold and wet, so we dress appropriately and eat a quick breakfast before getting on trail. I try to keep at least one pair of socks dry at all times for safety, which means that often I have to put on wet socks day after day in the rain. Hiking warms us up and there are many difficult mountains to climb ahead.

7:00am - 9:00am:

The first six miles are difficult, and usually I am starving by the time we stop for second breakfast.

9:00am - 9:15am:

Second breakfast. This is also prime drying-out-gear time, so instead of looking for shade and water (as we have done in the past) we instead attempt to find a flat, dry slab of rock. There we can spread out our tents and sleeping bags and let the condensation (or rain) dry in the sunlight (provided its sunny by then). If it's still overcast or raining, our breaks are very short and sometimes we stay standing, since it gets much too cold to stop moving.

9:15am - 12:00pm:

 We keep hiking, trying to get in at least ten miles, if not more before lunch. Some days this is easy and some days it is extremely difficult. River fords take up more time than accounted for, so often this sets us back.

12:00pm - 1:00pm:

Ideally, if it was overcast this morning, it gets sunny by lunchtime and we have time to dry out our gear. This isn't always the case, and sometimes we are forced to eat lunch under our umbrellas, which is tricky and uncomfortable. If the weather is nice, we take a long break and cook our meals so we can eat something warm. If the weather isn't nice, our breaks are shorter and we keep moving to get to camp as quickly as possible.

1:00pm - 6:00pm:

We stop for water and snacks every few hours, but we're moving slower than usual and our days are dictated by the terrain and the weather. Often we keep granola bars in our pockets and eat on the go. We carry only 2L of water at a time - we should be drinking more, but the weather is so wet that we spend most of our time drenched and we don't think about drinking. Sometimes I go days before refilling my water. We try to get to camp as early as possible. Fall is in full swing and the nights are getting dark so fast. If we're not careful, we end up hiking with our headlamps on more than one occasion.

6:00pm - 8:00pm:

Ideally we reach camp at 6, just before dark, but usually we can't get there until 7 or 7:30, when it's already pitch black outside. If we manage to get in camp at 6, it's cause for rejoicing and a very precious hour spent with friends. If it's raining we eat our lunches for dinner in our tents - this is the other reason we cook dinner at lunchtime - and if it's not, we have the luxury of building a bonfire in camp and eating around it. We set up our tents and pull on our warmest clothes, since it's very cold. I give up trying to wash myself off before bed - usually I've been drenched all day and I just don't care anymore. I write a few notes to myself before bed and fall asleep sometimes before 8:00.

As you can see, life on the trail is full of routine, but it also changes with the seasons and the landscape. Hopefully this has been a fun peak into what day-today life is like on the PCT!

FAQs About My PCT Thru-Hike

Hi readers! Thanks for all your great questions about my hike. And sorry about the length of this post... I warned you that once I start rambling about the trail, it's hard to get me to shut up. Hopefully these answers will help satisfy your curiosity. Let me know if I forgot anything!

And now, without further ado....

How much planning did you do before the trip?

I only had one month between the time I got laid off from my job to the day I started hiking on the PCT. Most people spend two years or more researching and planning for a thru-hike, so having only a month was a little stressful, especially since I’m rather OCD and NEED to plan out my life in advance. Fortunately, since I didn’t have a job, I had plenty of time to prepare during the day. I had most of the gear I needed already, so most of my time was spent refining my pack and planning out my food drops. (This was a ridiculous task. More on this below.)

I was also fortunate to have a hiking partner who had been doing a few years of research about the PCT, as well as some friends who had hiked it previously. Having them to lean on when I had questions was a huge help. Also, I recommend Yogi’s PCT Thru-hike guide. I read it cover to cover and while the advice should be taken with a grain of salt, overall it is very useful.


How exactly did your food packages work? Did you ship them all in advance or did you tell Tanner when they needed to go out?

I spent a LOT of time prior to the trail figuring out my food. I made sample itineraries, dates I would be arriving in each town and which stops had good grocery stores vs. ones that I needed to mail myself food and/or fuel. For places with little to no food options, I filled a USPS flat-rate box with the number of days of food I would need based on mileage and elevation for the next section. I made a pretty cool spreadsheet that detailed all of this: town stops, elevation gain, mileage, date of arrival (including if I arrived on a weekend or holiday so I would know that the post office would be closed), what was included in each box, and date it needed to be shipped by in order to arrive in time. I addressed and labeled all the boxes and left the spreadsheet with Tanner, so all he had to do was check the list and bring the pre-packaged box to the post office on the date specified. I even left him pre-labeled bags of items (such as cheese) in the fridge so he could just pull them out and add them to the box before mailing. All in all, I made the process very simple and fool-proof for him so that if I couldn’t get in contact with him on the trail, at least I knew I would have food waiting for me at the next town.

Inevitably, for the first few boxes I called him quite a bit to add or subtract items as needed. My food preferences changed quite a lot over the course of the hike and in the end I didn’t like a lot of the things I packaged for myself once I was on trail. When I arrived in Portland, I packaged all my boxes for Washington with the things I knew I liked by then. It was a much easier process the second time around, since I knew what I was doing. All in all, I made and shipped 14 boxes over the course of my trip.


What foods/drinks did you crave on trail? What was your favorite meal on trail? What food did you get tired of? 

I started to answer these questions separately and then realized that food for the PCT is a whole post in and of itself. (Cravings, meals, resupply, etc etc) so you can read all about it here!


How much did thru-hiking the PCT cost? What did you find you spent the most money on?

They say thru-hiking costs about $2/mile, which would be just over $5,000. I would say most people spend anywhere from $2,000 to $8,000, with $5k being pretty average. Grated, this depends a lot on how you hike your hike. I had a lot of gear before I started, so I didn’t spend as much getting outfitted as a lot of people have to. I would suggest spending your money on a good sleep system, tent and backpack. Everything else is just stuff and it’s going to get trashed anyway, so don’t spend too much on top-of-the-line clothing or anything, since you’ll most likely be going through multiple sets. (Plus, the less you buy, the less you have to carry!)

Actually, gear is only a small percentage of what people spend. Most of your expenses come from staying in towns along the way. Hotels take up a big chunk. And no one told me this, but when you get to town, you’ll eat at MINIMUM four meals. Plus snacks. Plus dessert. Plus midnight grocery store raids. I knew I’d spend a lot of money on food, but I didn’t realize I’d spend MOST of my money on food. You’re just hungry all the time, so you spend to satisfy an insatiable beast.


What piece of gear did you think you needed but didn’t? What piece did you not think you needed but did?

I dumped a lot of gear my first day out on trail. It was difficult giving some of it up, but I quickly discovered that I didn’t need any of it. And I hung onto a lot of stuff that I should have gotten rid of then, too. I would say the most notable thing that comes to mind was my solar charger. I was convinced it was going to be worth the 14oz that it weighed, and I had a hard time sending it home. But most people who kept their solar chargers ended up getting rid of them. A backup battery is much lighter and it works just as well, since you’re in towns frequently enough to recharge everything anyway.

I didn’t think I would need gaiters, but I brought a pair of lightweight Dirty Girl brand ones, anyway. Granted, they didn’t keep me from getting filthy (mesh shoes will make your feet dirty no matter what) but by tucking my pants in them, I did manage to keep the amount of dust that blew on my legs to a minimum. 

Another piece of gear I didn’t think I needed was a bandana. (I know, right?) I wore a sunhat through the desert so I assumed I wouldn’t need one, though I fortunately brought one, anyway. Bandanas are the amazing jack-of-all-trades in a backpacker’s world. You can literally do everything from blowing your nose to filtering chunks out of your water with it. (Maybe different bandanas..) I was shocked to learn how much snot/ mucus/ blood/ dirt/ sweat came out of every pore in my body in the desert (no one tells you that your nose will bleed for three weeks if you’re not used to dry weather!) so a bandana saved my butt. If it wasn’t in my pocket within close range 24/7 I panicked.

A piece of gear I regret not taking was an umbrella. Backpacking with an umbrella seemed hilarious to me until I saw other people using them and realized what a godsend they are. They create shade in the baking heat of the desert, and they keep you dry in the perpetual wet of the Pacific Northwest. I won't hike without one again.


How did you write all your posts along trail? 

Writing posts was a surprisingly difficult thing to do. I wasn’t sure the best way to go about it in the beginning, so I tried several different approaches. At the start of the trip I was determined to keep a hand-written journal. I had a bunch of loose paper I would write on every single night and then mail home to myself when I got to town. After 1,000 miles I had written over 200 pages worth. I also tried to write a daily post on my phone so that when I had internet signal I could post it online.

I attempted this method for the first half of my trip. It was stressful and time consuming to write every day, but in the desert I could often keep myself caught up by writing during our afternoon siestas. Once I was in Northern California and we were walking 28 miles every day, it was much harder to keep up with my journal. I stopped hand-writing pages every night (this saved some weight, too, since I didn’t have to carry paper) and instead I just kept notes on my phone about each day and updated my online journal when I was in town. Town days can be really stressful too, though, and sometimes I didn’t have the chance to update my blog. There were a few times (such as in Bend) when I spent a whole zero-day writing a month of entries to post daily while I was walking. I hated writing blog entries on my phone since the screen was so small, so I gave up writing them on trail after a while. It was much easier to do it on a computer screen, especially since I can be verbose sometimes. There were a number of people on trail who faithfully kept up their blogs even while walking 30 miles/day and I have no idea how they did it. I was usually too exhausted to do anything but sleep at the end of the day.


How did you remember all that happened to create a post every day?

I kept notes for myself so I could look back and write the entries. Though they weren’t very detailed notes, I was surprised how much I could remember about every day. Your memory does crazy things on trail. When you’re living so completely in the present, it’s amazing what you can recall. I could write myself a note like, “climbed 5,000 feet in the first ten miles today and stopped by a stream for a snack break” and I would be able to remember every step of the climb, envision what the views were, who I was walking with, and how I was feeling. It’s incredible what the mind remembers when you’re so fully immersed in your own life. I can still play back every day on trail and remember minute details like it was yesterday. It’s like having a super power!


Did you see any wildlife along that way that scared you? Most specifically... snakes?!

I saw a lot of wildlife on trail, but nothing truly terrifying. Bears and rattlesnakes may have been the worst, but even they weren’t that bad. I have had many encounters with black bears on the east coast, and I’m still not that big of a fan of them. Fortunately, they hate noise and if you yell at them, they’ll leave you alone. Thru-hikers see a lot of bears but very rarely have issues with them. You just want to make sure to be vigilant about your food storage. 

Rattlesnakes I was worried about if only because I had never encountered one and I was really nervous about getting bitten. But after the first few encounters, the fear goes away. The nice thing about rattlesnakes is that they do NOT want to have contact with you. They have a nice, loud warning that you can hear from far away, and you’re only too happy to give them some space. The rest of the snakes on trail were very small and harmless, and they never bothered anyone. They also don’t live above 10,000 feet, so when you’re in the mountains you don’t have to worry about them. I had heard rumors about snakes crawling into your sleeping bag if you cowboy camped, which terrified me, but after cowboy camping a few nights, I realized this is very unlikely. The joys of sleeping out under the stars eventually completely outweighed my fear of snakes (and I am a big wuss). After a while, you learn to co-habitate peacefully with the wildlife on trail, and for the most part, if you don’t bother them, they don’t bother you. Honestly, the biggest pain in my ass were the ants in Southern California. Those bastards are EVERYWHERE. They truly rule the planet.

Other cool animals I saw on trail included: marmots, rock pikas, horny toads (SO CUTE), elk, deer, pine martens, white scorpions (only while night hiking), rattlesnakes, gopher snakes, garter snakes, black bears, gray fox, mountain goats, cattle, bald eagles, hummingbirds, ravens, grouse (scared the shit out of me the first time I heard one. It sounds like a grunting bear), mountain chickadees, stellar jays, quail (actually, birds of ALL kinds, but I can’t name them all), crawfish, lizards, banana slugs, butterflies, squirrels and chipmunks. I also saw mountain lion and bobcat tracks in the sand but never saw one (they’re quite elusive).


What were your biggest fears before starting the trail? Were they unfounded or come true?

I had a couple main issues before I started hiking. In retrospect, they seem kind of silly, but they worried me enough to keep me up at night and wondering if I shouldn’t hike the trail after all.

First, I hate sleeping outside. Yeah, I said it. I’m a really light sleeper and I wake up at anything. Literally. If some tree branch snaps outside my tent, I’m wide awake and my mind is screaming BEAR! BEAR! BEAR! I hate it. I have the craziest imagination and it sucks sometimes. I was petrified about spending every night for five months inside a little piece of nylon, as if it would protect me from bears and snakes and other wildlife that wanted to kill me.

In reality, you hardly ever get bothered at night. And even bears leave you alone when you yell at them. I also found that I was so exhausted every night that I passed out within seconds of lying down. I started to enjoy sleeping outdoors, and even grew to love cowboy camping. It’s hard to be frightened of the dark when the stars are so bright. Now I miss my tent... sleeping indoors on a soft bed feels too stuffy, too luxurious.

The other thing I was wary about was hitchhiking. I had no interest in it, and even went so far as to think about walking to towns rather than catching a lift. This was another fear that was quickly abandoned. For one thing, I made sure to never hitch alone, and this made me more comfortable. For another thing, almost every “big, scary” city on the west coast is situated on the coast, and every town that is over the mountain range, in line with the PCT, is tiny. Therefore, all the locals are well versed with thru-hiker tradition, and if they see you hitching, they know why. I met some of the nicest people on hitches to town.


How long does it take to “earn” a trail name?

Most people had trail names after two weeks. In retrospect, this is SO fast. But when you’re on trail, two weeks feels like forever. Every day has so much going on that after a week in the desert you could swear you’ve been out there a month. Ideally, you should get your trail name after spending enough time with the people around you that they can name you accurately, based on some silly story you told or trait you have. Otherwise you end up getting stuck with a name like “Commando” or “Irish” just because you wear a kilt, or “Giant” or “Bigfoot” just because you’re tall.

Overall, having a trail name is a great part of the spirit of the PCT. It's not just a "nickname", it's your second identity, your second true name. It represents the life you have outside your life. The trail challenges you to your very core, and like a true spirit journey, you are reborn with a new name.


What was the toughest part physically and mentally?

Physically, central California and Washington are the two hardest sections. Although, looking back, I don’t remember the Sierras being that difficult. Of course, I know they WERE, but I was just so enamored by the mountains that I didn’t even care. Also, we were only pulling 16 mile days, which made life a lot easier. Washington I recall being much harder, because the terrain was difficult and we were doing 20-25 miles every day, and it was the final stretch of our journey so it was annoying to get crushed by the trail after killing it for so long.

Mentally, the beginning and the end were the hardest for me. I don’t do well with heat, so the desert was a very difficult struggle for me. I thrive in places with water and mountains, and Southern California had neither of those. Since it was the start of a very long journey, I had to battle some strong inner-demons to keep myself motivated every day. But once I hit my stride, the trail became much more enjoyable for me. The end of the trip was also mentally exhausting because of all the logistics with the weather and trying to finish at the border. It was very emotionally trying and though I wouldn’t change anything about my journey, it was a difficult dream to let go.


Did the trail ever get easier? (For example, was day five harder than day fifty?)

I don’t think the trail ever gets “easier.” It does, however, get “less hard.” In the beginning you’re dragging yourself through the miles and the weather, but after a while, your body gets stronger and you find you can suffer through a lot more. I had this grand vision that someday, when I had been hiking for a month and I was physically fit, that I would be able to scale mountains at a run with a full pack on. This is not the case. Uphill climbs are always hard, no matter how long you’ve been hiking, and most likely, your pace won’t change. (This was a bummer for me, since I hike slow. I only went from 2 mph at the beginning to 2.5 mph by the end) The main difference I noticed was that my endurance was better I hated climbs, but I could get through five miles of uphill without stopping for a break because my legs could handle it. But they were never fun.

A friend of mine summed up a thru-hike well for me. He said: “the longer you hike, the stronger you get, but at the same time, the longer you hike, the more your body starts to break down.” It’s a strange dichotomy, that even as you get stronger, your body is also falling apart, piece by piece. Things just start hurting and never stop. You learn to live with it.


How much did you train before starting the trail? Could you hike 20 mile days right away?

Ugh, I hate to admit this, but I didn’t really train at all. I tried to, but really anything you do at home is just not going to accurately duplicate the severity of Southern California (unless you live there). My first three weeks on trail were nothing short of hellish. I was tired, I had no appetite, I felt ill from the heat, I had no energy, I was thirsty, I had blisters all over my feet, I was in pain most of the time, I was hot and stumbling along the trail every day. I can see why a lot of people quit early on - between the heat and the long miles and the lack of water, it’s a mental battle as much as a physical one. The only reason I made it through was my own tenacity: I was too stubborn to quit. That’s really all it takes to accomplish a thru-hike, is the desire to keep yourself going, even when the going gets tough. On my hardest days I just kept thinking about all the people back home who were rooting for me, and who believed in me. This was strong enough incentive to keep going: I wanted to make everyone proud and I knew I couldn’t live with myself if I let them (or me!) down.

I couldn’t do 20 mile days right away. I did 20 miles my first day out, and then after that dropped down to 11-16 miles a day. Even that was a stretch sometimes. Fortunately I had an equally stubborn hiking partner who kept me going even when I didn’t want to. I doubt I would have made it through the desert without her there, so I’m thankful for that. After three weeks I finally regained my appetite and grew some stronger hiking legs, and life was considerably better after that (though not necessarily easier.)


I’m curious about how your body adapts to a strenuous hike - did you lose a lot of weight on trail? Can “unfit” people thru-hike?

I lost about 10 pounds on trail. Most of it was lost in the first month, and after that my weight stayed pretty stable, even considering how much food I was eating. There weren’t many scales or mirrors available on trail, so it’s hard to say how much my weight fluctuated. The only gauge I had that I was losing weight was that my pants were growing looser. The first time I saw myself in a mirror was shocking - my face had grown a lot slimmer, too. I loved it - I stress about food and exercise at home, and being on trail was like having a free pass. All I had to do was walk every day and I could eat whatever I wanted. It was wonderful.

Almost everyone loses weight on trail. How much you lose depends on how heavy you are to start with. I had a couple of friends on trail who lost anywhere from 30-50 pounds, proving that even if you are out of shape, you can hike the PCT. All you need is some fortitude and a love of walking, and you can make it. The trail will eventually whip everyone into shape. In general, guys lose a lot more weight than women do. Women become more muscular, while men turn into skinny bean poles. You do want to be very careful that you’re eating enough. Some people have this mindset that the trail is a great “workout”, but it is NOT a diet. If you eat less, you won’t have the energy to keep hiking. We were consuming anywhere from 2,000-5,000 calories a day in food and still losing weight. I found that hiking the PCT put me more in tune with my body and what it was craving, and when it needed food, and what would happen if I didn’t get the calories I needed to keep walking. It was really fascinating.


How easy is it to get lost on the PCT? How did you navigate?

The PCT is a very well marked trail and it’s very simple to navigate 95% of the time. That being said, we did carry maps and a GPS phone app that kept us on trail. I go into this in more detail on this blog post, so check it out!


How did your expectations differ from the actuality of hiking long distance?

The main thing I wanted to get out of my thru-hike was a sense of community and a chance to be out in the wild for five months. I received both of these things, to a degree I did not expect. I knew the people of the trail were a huge part of why you’d hike long distances, but I did not realize what a strong bond you create in such a short period of time. Because you’re all suffering and triumphing together every day, you become very close. You share an experience that only those people can relate to. I’m a pretty guarded and introverted person most of the time - I have a hard time expressing/showing my feelings and emotions out loud - so it was interesting to me to see how barriers and facades completely crumble when you’re out on trail. There’s just no way to hide if you’re tired, or grumpy, or hungry, or elated, so you share your “true self” to everyone, whether you want to or not. A friend of mine told me upon returning home that I talk a lot more than I used to. Over the few months I spent off the grid, I grew accustomed to saying whatever I wanted and being accepted for it by the people around me. It’s a very freeing and honest way to live.

What I didn’t expect was the outpouring of human kindness along the trail. I knew about trail angels, of course, but I never expected the amount of magic they bestowed on us, and to the degree they did: opening up their homes, their backyards, giving us food, showers, rides, laundry, a place to stay... some angels, like the Sauffley’s in the desert, even cart in something like an extra 300 gallons of water for thru-hikers to shower when they come through. And most of these expenses from their own pocket, as even our donations could hardly compensate. It’s truly amazing, the goodness of people.


What were your favorite parts of the trail? (Do you have any recommendations for shorter backpacking trips?)

The whole trail is nothing short of amazing. It’s hard to pick an absolute “favorite” section, because I loved all of them for different reasons (even the desert!) I would say if I were forced to choose, I would go with these three:

1. The Sierra Nevadas. It’s easy to see why the John Muir section of the PCT is a favorite for backpackers. It’s stunning - gorgeous mountains, lakes, blue skies, vistas... it has it all. Plus, arriving in the Sierras after 700 miles of desert was just breath-taking. It was completely worth the months of heat and dehydration just to walk among those peaks for a few weeks. I would go back in a heartbeat.

2. Alpine Lakes Wilderness and Glacier Peak Wilderness. Despite having horrible weather and difficult terrain 50% of the time I was walking through Washington, I was completely in love with it. Everything north of Snoqualmie Pass (the Northern Cascades) was breathtaking. The towering mountains in all directions were beautiful, and for some reason felt so much more remote than any other part of the trail.

3. Goat Rocks Wilderness. Though technically we walked through the whole wilderness in one day, it’s worth a return trip. The PCT only goes through a very small part of the park and the views are incomparable. Despite being terrified most of the time I was walking the knife’s edge, I looked forward to Goat Rocks for 2200 miles and I wasn’t disappointed.

If I had to pick other small sections that would be great for smaller backpacking trips I would recommend the San Jacinto Mountains to Whitewater Preserve near Idyllwild, CA, the Vasquez Rocks area near Agua Dulce, CA, the Crater Lake and Three Sisters Wilderness in Oregon, and the section between Snoqualmie Pass and Steven’s Pass in Washington. But it’s hard to go wrong.


What were your favorite trail towns?

I loved trail towns!! Most of them were tiny and adorable and easily walkable, which is a huge plus for people who don’t have cars. I kept saying I want to take a road trip someday and visit all the towns I stopped through along my journey. Some notable favorites include, California: Julian (so adorable. Amazing pie), Idyllwild (rustic, full of pine trees and cabins, which I loved, so cute), Bishop (the views of the Cascades are amazing), Etna (so tiny. So cute.) Oregon: Ashland (hippie central. I wanted to stay there forever!), Bend (what’s not to love about Bend?!), Portland (duh), Washington: Trout Lake (if you want to know why, read my blog post about the people/trail magic we received there. I still tear up.) Stehekin (a little town on the lake with an amazing bakery... done.)

Actually, it’s funny: most of what thru-hikers remember about towns is the food. Ask about what we did there, and we’ll regale you with all the amazing places we ate. Picking the right restaurants for each of our four daily meals was a very, very important decision.


What do you think about when you’re walking all day? Don’t you get bored??

Believe it or not, I didn’t have a single bit of music for the first 1,000 miles of my journey. Most people listen to their iPods while walking through the desert to keep themselves entertained. I was determined not to - mainly for two reasons: I didn’t want to get sick of my music, and I wanted to be able to hear the world around me (ie, rattlesnakes.) 

Of course, one month in I was desperate for entertainment. I told myself the sounds of nature would be enough, but you grow quickly jaded by it (much to the shock of the dayhikers you run into, who think listening to iPods on trail is blasphemy.) I finally compromised and put podcasts and audio books on my phone, which turned out to be very entertaining, because they were always different and interesting. I found I listened to them a lot more when the trail was boring - I went through endless podcasts the whole time I was in Oregon because the trail was so flat and monotonous. In places like the Sierras and Washington, I didn’t really have a need to listen to anything because I was too focused on the scenery and the difficult terrain.

When I wasn’t listening to something, I thought about all kinds of stuff. Mostly about the trail - I did a LOT of math in my head, everything from how many miles I had hiked to how many I had left, to how fast I was going, to how fast I’d have to go in order to make it a certain number of miles by a certain time, etc etc. It began to sound like a high school physics class test. (“If Bramble leaves camp at 8 am hiking at 2.8 mph and she has 24.67 miles to go to camp, how many hours will it take her to get there, assuming she takes a 10 minute break every two hours and 30 min for lunch?”) I got really good at it, actually. I was to the point where I could calculate how long it took me to walk 1/10 of a mile, so when my GPS told me I was 7.6 mile from town, I knew exactly what time I would be there, down to the minute. Sometimes this was satisfying and sometimes this was frustrating, for example, if you reeeeeally want to make it there faster and you know you just can’t. The numbers never lie. If you suck at math I suggest hiking the PCT. It will turn you into a top-notch student.

When I wasn’t thinking about the trail, I thought about the things I wanted to do when I got home. I hardly ever thought about “real life” - that just meant bills and work and all that, something I didn’t want to focus on (even though I hoped I would discover my “true career” on trail, I never thought about it even once). Instead, I thought about living in a lake house someday with Tanner and sitting on the porch painting next to the water. Or I thought about car camping, bringing stuff like CHAIRS and GRILLS and HAMMOCKS. (Yeah, I know it's weird to dream about camping while on a five month backpacking trip.) Or I thought about the next adventures I wanted to take. In the desert I dreamed a lot about water. Or I wrote novels in my head. Out in the wild, I felt like I could do anything. Go anywhere. Be anyone. It was immensely satisfying. Sometimes I would pick a topic to think about. We would joke about it in the mornings before leaving camp - “what are you going to think about today?” and see how long you could stay on one tangent. Your mind is a weird place when you’re stuck with it all day.


What would you do differently if you hiked the trail a second time around?

A couple main things come to mind.

1. I would send fewer resupply boxes to myself. I got tired of most everything I made for myself in advance. Shopping more in towns allows you more creativity with your food cravings, and when you’re on trail, you think about food a LOT. If it makes or breaks your happiness, why chance it? And knowing now what I do about towns, it would be much easier to plan a second time around.

2. I would bring less stuff. Or at least get lighter stuff. I consistently had a heavy backpack and carrying less weight ultimately makes your journey easier. Sounds like a simple concept, but a lot of people (including me) think “but I need this!!” and carry extraneous gear “just in case.” Most of it is unnecessary. Plus, it’s annoying to have to pack up every morning, so if you have less stuff to pack, it doesn’t take as long. Win win!

3. I would make some adjustments to my gear. Knowing what I do now about weather and conditions in each of the sections, I could tailor my stuff more accurately - footwear, clothing pieces, rain gear, etc.

4. I would train more before leaving. It would make the start of the trip more enjoyable if I wasn’t fighting terrain, weather AND an out-of-shape body.

5. I would start earlier and go slower. The unfortunate thing about the PCT is that you’re always racing the weather. You usually have to start in late April so you don’t get to the Sierras too early, in case they still have snow. But on dry years like this summer, I think if I had started earlier in April it would have made the conditions in Washington easier.

6. It's funny.... while I was hiking the trail I kept telling myself, "why do people hike this trail more than once? Everyone who finishes immediately wants to do it again. But I have no desire to ever do this again." And that statement was true for most of my journey. Yes, I was having a good time, but no, I wouldn't willingly do the hardest thing I have ever done in my life a second time. What am I, a masochist??

But as Starfox kept telling us, the PCT is known as "type two fun." Fun you have only after you've finished having it, and not during. Now that I'm off trail, now that I'm looking back and remembering it... it's hard to forget the wonderful moments and easy to forget the terrible ones. And I know if someone asked me again if I wanted to hike the PCT a second time, believe it or not, I would say yes. 


Thanks everyone! I hope you enjoyed it! I'll be returning to my regular posting schedule of Mon/Wed/Fridays, so I'll see you in a couple days!

Things I've Forgotten About Real Life

Oh, culture shock.

If I thought I would have an easy re-entry from trail life (after all, didn't I spend many of my trail days languishing in the delights of town?) I was mistaken. Simple, easy things I would have never considered to be issues are suddenly life-altering decisions. Wait, I have to take a shower every day? Is that truly necessary? And why are there so many toothpaste options at the drug store? I could spend hours in the aisles trying to decide between "whitening action" or "preventing tooth decay."

Here are a few more things that caught me by surprise during re-entry:

* I have so much stuff. Seriously. It just sits there.... on shelves... doing nothing. And then, when I'm not looking, it migrates all over the house and I have to spend inordinate amounts of time putting it back on shelves, where it sits... doing nothing. All of it wants attention and cleaning, and I have better things to do with my time. Thru-hiker motto: if each object doesn't serve at least two purposes, it's extravagant.

* Why is peeing so much more annoying at home? There are way too many steps involved. Open bathroom door. Close bathroom door. Lift toilet lid. Pull down pants. Sit. Pee. Stand up. Flush. Wash hands. Open bathroom door. I would just pee in my yard for the convenience of it, but apparently in society, people frown on that.

* I have too many clothing options. Suddenly everything is cute or fashionable instead of practical for the weather. I'm used to different combinations of layering with my three available options, not this whole closet-full of superfluous outfits.

* None of my shoes fit. None of them. This is kind of annoying, except for the fact that I really don't care. I've been wearing one brand of sneakers for the last five months, so any excuse not to wear high heels is fine with me.

* This insatiable, incurable, ravenous hunger!! I can't eat like a thru-hiker anymore, content that my 25 mile days will keep off whatever 4,000 calories I've just consumed in 15 minutes. I forgot how stressful it is to count calories and force myself to exercise all the time. I liked it way better when I could just hike all day, eat whatever the hell I wanted and still look and feel awesome.

* I still don't have feeling in my toes or the bottoms of my feet. I think the latter is due to my awesome bomb-proof calluses, but telling people I can't feel my toes seems to alarm them. Oh, is that not normal?

* Indoor air and water. It smells different. It tastes different. So... manufactured. And fake. And not at all appealing.

* I get momentarily super excited when I see a convenience store. In my hiker-brain, the presence of a convenience store means chocolate milk, a new packet of wet-wipes, and possibly even a microwaveable pizza. Then I realize that I live within close proximity to approximately 497562 convenience stores and I can go there whenever I want. (And that there are better options out there.)

* When did I become an old lady and have to pee in the middle of the night? I think my body is confused by the over-excess of water that I'm suddenly not expending in sweat every day.

* Claustrophobia. Now, I'm not a claustrophobic person, but being inside too long, or around big crowds is enough to make me feel stifled. I went downtown a few days after returning home and almost had an anxiety attack. So many people. I miss my remote wilderness.

* My knees are killing me. I was extremely lucky not to have any trail-ending issues while I was hiking, but now that I'm home it's like my body is telling me, "oh, we're resting now? Ok. I'm going to start hurting, then." And I can barely even walk. After feeling so strong for so long, this sucks.

* Suddenly bills are a thing. Like, I have to pay for my shelter, even though it doesn't have cool new views every day. And I have to pay for my light source. And water. And this filtered stuff they call "air." And apparently I have to do this monthly. Or they get angry.

* Speaking of money, life is expensive. Did you know you can live in the woods for practically nothing? As long as you have shelter, clothing and some food, you can figure everything else out. Now I can't even leave the house without spending $50. Why is that?

* I used to get migraines a few times a month at my last job. From the day I stepped foot on trail until the end of my journey five months later, I didn't suffer a single headache or even remotely get the sniffles. I think it may be the longest stretch I've gone in my life without getting sick. The minute I rejoin society, I seem to be plagued by illness again...

* I can relate everything back to the trail. Everything. Veteran hikers told me this would happen, but I didn't realize how much. Someone will be telling me a story and I'll want to pipe in and say, "Oh, this one time on trail....!" but then I stop myself because apparently not everyone wants to hear me talk about the PCT 24/7. This is sort of depressing, because some days it's all I have/want to talk about.

* I don't have to buy things based on weight. Oh, I can get the cost-effective two-pack instead of the travel size? How novel.

* When I wash my hair, I don't have to shampoo it three times. Like, it lathers on the first try. Weird.

* Society's dependence on time. You have to be at work at a certain time. And pay bills on a certain day. And keep up with deadlines and anniversaries and holidays and important events. I'm lucky if I know it's a Monday. I'm used to clocking my days by the sun, and the miles...

* Driving is hard. Forty miles an hour? In traffic? In the dark? That is not a normal speed for the human body to be traveling. When I'm going at 2.5 miles an hour at least I can see the rattlesnakes ahead. And prepare for the next water source. And take photos while I'm walking. Forty miles an hour? How do you even get a chance to experience life at that speed?

* Apparently there's more to talk about in life than the trail, food, pooping, and sex. (There's not. You're just too polite to admit it.)

* Nothing is simple and everyone puts on facades. What, I can't pee wherever I want to? Eat whenever I want to? Sleep wherever I walk? Walk wherever I please? Say whatever I want? There are too many rules to follow, too many hoops to jump through, too many etiquettes to follow. I just want to be me, and be accepted for it.

* The dependence on communication. Suddenly I have internet and cell service every day instead of once a week for an hour. Suddenly there's the compulsion to keep in touch, to reach out, to be on social media, to check my email a million times a day... why is this important? I was so much happier without it in my life.

* I have forgotten how to relax. On trail my "easy" days meant walking 15 miles instead of 26. Even my "days off" in town were full of resupply shopping, calling home, cleaning my gear, finding a place to stay the night, getting food to eat, doing laundry, taking a shower, etc etc etc. And all of this in the span of 12 hours. Now I have an infinite number of hours to relax and it's making me feel... useless.

* Decisions are so hard. I didn't make any decisions on trail. Nothing more earth-shattering than "when should I stop for lunch?" or "how many miles should we do today?" The only important decision was to keep walking north. Now suddenly I have to make a decision every 5.2 seconds or life will fall apart. Everyone wants to ask me, so what are you going to do now? What's next? What jobs are you applying for? When does the wedding planning begin? Are you going to stay in Oregon or move? I can't even make a decision about what cereal I want to eat in the morning, much less decisions that change my life. This is incredibly stressful and it has given me a few breakdowns in the past few weeks. I'm slowly learning to manage all these priorities again. It's not easy.

* We have a saying on the PCT, that the "trail provides." Even on your crappiest, awfulest days, there will be something that inevitably pulls you out. Maybe it's the kindness of a stranger, or a sunny day after a week of rain, or a friend pulling you through. Whatever it is, things always seem to fall together on the PCT, to make more sense, to create a kind of chaotic harmony. Life at home isn't quite like that. Sometimes bad days are just bad and life doesn't always "provide" in the end. Things fall apart and sometimes they don't fall back together. If we took a page from the trail and we spent a little more time looking out for one another, rather than looking out for ourselves, we'd probably find that life was a little more harmonic and we'd all be a little happier in the end.

* And you know what the most interesting thing I've discovered about this journey has been? Most people hike a long-distance trail, in some way or another, to "find" themselves. And while you're on this journey, you're consumed by pain and doubt and fear and trials and tribulations, and all the while you're thinking this is hell. Why am I doing this again? How is this helping me to discover my true calling? And then, slowly, you discover the joys, the triumphs, the successes, the beauty. You learn to appreciate each and every day.

And yet, still you don't truly "find" yourself. At least, not in the way you thought you would. You discover your strengths, and what you're capable of, but you don't come out of it with a whole new outlook on life. You aren't struck by some dazzling ray of enlightenment: "I KNOW WHAT I WAS MEANT TO DO IN THIS WORLD." Instead, you come home and feel dazed and confused and slightly depressed because you haven't figured out what you were put here on this earth to do. You haven't figured out your life's calling. You spent five months in the woods on some sort of spiritual journey and you ended up even more lost than when you started.

But the thing is, you discover that that's okay. You spent every day on trail not thinking about WHO I AM, but about water. And food. And how your feet hurt. And how far the next campsite is. And after hundreds of days just like that, you realize that you survived it all, and that without realizing it, you became stronger. So who cares if you didn't discover your life's calling? Who cares if you didn't spend every waking moment thinking about your career or where your life is going? Because while you weren't thinking about these things, you were living them, instead. Your life is a journey that only you can take, and even if you don't find yourself along the way, you're going to have one hell of a ride if you just throw yourself completely in.

So life is confusing and I'm slowly trying to readapt. (Though part of me really doesn't want to... there's a lot to be said for living very simply, and I miss that.)

In the meantime, I've kept away some of my post-trail depression by writing up these journal entries. I've really enjoyed re-living my journey, and I'm glad you guys have been enjoying it, too. I'm currently trying to go back to the earlier entries and add photos so that you can see what the desert looked like. Feel free to check back on those if you're interested! Some of them are pretty awesome. It reminds me that though the desert is a hot hellish place, it's also a beautiful one.

Now that the journey is over, I'm hoping to add some post-hike info regarding some things about trail life such as my daily routine, gear choices on trail, food/resupply info, navigation, and some other tid-bits. But I realize a lot of you must have interesting questions for me about my journey (something better than "what was your favorite part of the trip?" because I know you wouldn't ask me something silly like that, right? :) ) But if you do have a burning curiosity about some part of my journey that I didn't fully expound on, feel free to ask! You can leave me a comment, write me a Facebook message or send me an email: brittany(at)darkroomanddearly(dot)com. I'll compile an FAQ sheet in the next few days and add it to the blog. So rustle up those questions! 

Meanwhile, I'm going to take a little break for the Thanksgiving holiday... I'll be back next week with more posts! Happy holidays!

Learning to Accept the End of the Journey

When I returned to the real world from the trail, part of me didn't quite realize what a culture shock it would be. Of course, I knew after five months of living in the wild that certain things would take some adapting to, but I never realized how difficult this would be.

I came home expecting to spend my days basking in my own wonderful glow of adventure. Instead, I felt myself buried by small things: there were bills to pay. And my lease was up in a few months. And I needed to find a job to pay for all these things. Life caught up to me, and I realized how much I hated living on the grid. I hated being a slave to rent payments and responsibilities and the things in the real world that tied me down. I wanted to feel the freedom I felt on the trail, knowing I could do and be anything I wanted to be. Knowing that the world was open to me, that nothing was unconquerable if I wanted it desperately enough.
But now, suddenly, I felt reined in by society's demands. You're almost thirty. You're supposed to have a mortgage and a career and thirteen kids already.

I felt myself slipping into a post-trail depression. I used to wake up every morning surrounded by friends. I would walk through beautiful landscapes and stunning scenery. I would breathe the open air and feel the strength of my body propelling me forward. I would go to bed surrounded by friends and do it all again the next day.
And now I was just... alone. I woke up every day in a stuffy house. Tanner would leave me to go to work and I would be at home, not knowing what to do with myself. It took me a long time to figure out what it was that was causing this overwhelming gloom.

And then I realized: I no longer had a purpose.
On trail I had one overwhelming purpose for five months: walk north. Walk north. Walk north. And the desire and the dedication to complete my goal was enough of a spark to keep me going. I was seeing new things! Meeting new people! Walking from one end of the States to the other!
But suddenly, I had none of that. My one driving goal was gone, and with it, my sense of purpose. 

I wandered through my days like a zombie, trying to pick up the pieces of who I was when I was on trail. I am strong. I am capable. I am vibrant and adventurous and bad-ass.
But suddenly I didn't feel it. Suddenly my self-esteem was leaking out the door. I couldn't remember why I had been so confident in myself, why I had felt like I could take on the world. Now I was trapped in a tiny world when I had become accustomed to wandering through a big one. I wanted my wilderness back. I wanted my sense of purpose.

It's heartbreaking to leave behind a dream you've carried for 2,600 miles, especially when the goal hovers just tantalizingly out of reach. Fifty miles and I would have completed my journey. Fifty miles. And part of this depression that seeps over me at home, part of it has to do with the fact that I haven't finished the task I set out to do five months ago. Part of it has to do with the fact that I want to finish, and instead I'm trapped at home, feeling useless and without purpose.

Friends and family at home try to console us: "it doesn't matter that you didn't finish. Fifty miles out of 2,600 is nothing! We know you made it from Mexico to Canada."
Yes, fifty miles is nothing. A two day walk, no more. On any other stretch of trail, it would barely even register. But on the final fifty miles? Nothing could be more crucial. Nothing could be more important.

Our friends and family still try to console us. They don't understand. They say, "remember, it's the journey, and not the destination, that matters."
It's a nice sentiment in a way, and I can't find the heart to argue with them. But if I'm being truthful, I can't agree. Yes, the journey was wonderful. Yes, it was life changing. Yes, technically I walked from Mexico through most of California, Oregon and Washington. But to say that the destination doesn't matter is a slap in the face. Friends and family don't understand what it is to be a thru-hiker. They don't have that mindset. They don't understand that for five months, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, we had one driving goal. One. To walk north to the monument.
In the real world, you battle with hundreds of goals every day: working hard enough to earn yourself a lunch break. Working on a project that's due at the end of the week. Saving for a vacation at the end of the month. Saving for a new house. For a new baby. For retirement. Goals are coming and going so quickly that you barely notice them. You celebrate them daily, begin another just as fast. Imagine working for five months on a project merely to have it torn up in your face by your boss. But it was all the work you did, and not the final result that matters, right?

And for a thru-hiker? Life is simple. Life is straight forward. Every single person walking the trail is living in the present moment and no further. And every single moment of your day is spent reaching one mighty goal: to make it to Canada. To reach that northern monument, just as you left behind the southern one. There are no big decisions to be made. There are no stresses. There is nothing hindering you from your one overwhelming destination. You wake up. You walk north. You go to sleep. You wake up. You walk north. You go to sleep. And as you grow closer and closer, the obsession grows stronger. Your will power grows stronger. Your resolve, your strength, your determination grows stronger. You realize that you have broken every barrier you have ever built for yourself and you've just walked twenty six hundred miles from one end of the country to the other. And dammit, you deserve to touch that monument. You deserve to reach your goal. Because if you work hard enough, it's within your grasp. It's all you think about. You spend hours of your day walking north, and monumental daydreams leak into your head.

What will it be like? Your mind drifts forward in time. You imagine your feet aching after a long day. You imagine coming around the bend in the trail. The trees open up. There is a clearing ahead. And there, just ahead of you, is the weather-worn gray wooden monument. It looks just like the one in Mexico, except that it is in Canada, 2,650 miles away from the one you left five months before. You fall to your knees. You press your forehead against the wood. You begin to cry. You embrace your friends, you cheer, you drink champagne and let a thousand emotions run through your thoughts. You take a hundred pictures standing beside your final milestone. You say goodbye. You reminisce. You move on.

And all these things run through a thru-hikers head every day. Every day. Every day since our first day on trail we have dreamt about the monument. Every day we dream about taking that photograph next to it. And so it is little surprise that reaching the terminus becomes an obsession. Thru-hikers are a determined group of individuals: once we have a goal in mind, we will walk to the ends of the earth to achieve it. We will walk through 100 degrees of heat. We will walk through four feet of snow. We will walk through days of rain. We will ignore the weather and the warnings and the risks. We will defy the government. We will put ourselves in harms way. We will make smart choices, but if there is still a choice to be made, we will always choose the one that takes us north.
It's what we've worked for for so long. And if we can, we will.

And that's why the destination matters. Yes, the journey is important. Yes, the journey will be the memories we remember. But the final monument is a thru-hiker's Valhalla. It may seem crazy, it may seem superfluous, but until you've spent every waking moment of five months working toward one specific goal, you can't judge when I'm heartbroken to leave it behind. You can't judge when I don't accept that it's only about the journey. Because if I'm being honest, the journey is also about the destination.