Tales from the Trail

When I pictured myself documenting the adventure of my epic hike, I envisioned nightly sessions in my tent frantically writing all the musings from the day: random thoughts, physical observations, and reflection on the natural surroundings. I even saw myself with a little notepad tucked away in my shirt pocket so as something brilliantly funny or profound entered my head I could jot it down on the trail. Turns out that lots of things that you thought before the trail are not what happen in actuality. The reality is that a) very little of interest actually happens in my wee brain while hiking (though I did come up with an idea for an awesome new greeting for my voicemail), b) there is a strong chance that the desert heat has drained most creativity from my struggling musings, and c) in the evening it takes all of my remaining energy from the day to set up camp, cook dinner, tend to my blistered feet, and then die in a pile.
So now, in a public library in Julian, CA, I will do my best to summarize my first 6 days of hiking the Pacific Crest Trail.
First of all, the trail itself is a hiker's dream. The climbs are relatively gradual (relative to hiking straight up which is the case in many scenarios), switchbacks are plentiful. The desert ecosystems are a delight to one accostomed to tundra and taiga and the sweeping vistas with layer after layer of shaded blue mountains are reminiscent of patriotic songs. Lizards scurrying across the trail and doing push-ups in the sun are frequent. Unfamiliar bird calls tickle the ear. Cacti and wildflowers are in full bloom making me wish I could afford the weight of an identification book. But there's another element: The Heat. I am familiar with it's rival, The Cold, but The Heat is a whole other ball of wax. It's an extra weight on my shoulders to combine with the weight of my pack. It sits on my head and covers the back of my hands. It makes each step heavier than it should feel. It's one thing to sit in my cabin in Cantwell and know it's going to be hot and a totally different thing to experience that heat. The only thing that makes sense is to wake early and travel in the cooler morning hours, take a break during the mid-day heat, and make a few more miles in the fading sun. I also carry a parisol which may look funny, but provides a few degrees of cooler temps and shade directly over my dome and allows me to carry on just a little bit further. The Heat is the big challenge of this section of trail.
One unexpected aspect of The Heat is that it killed my appetite. Just when I would expect that I would be ravenous and needing thousands of calories to get down the trail, I have zero appetite. Not only zero appetite, but anything remotely sweet-- granola bars, nuts, and (gasp!) even my beloved Snickers bars-- are difficult to choke down. Like a cat trying to remove the hair from its tongue after a good bath, I chew, flick my tongue, shake my head and force the food to go down because I know I need the energy it will give me. The only food my body can abide is salty goodness. And so, this is why my food bag resembles a frat boy's dorm: Ramen, dried meat sticks of any variety, Pringles, tuna in a foil packet, corn nuts of various MSG-enhanced flavors...you name it. I suppose my body is craving all that salt that I am sweating out by the buckets throughout the day. Hey, whatever it takes. But my trip to the market today was almost embarrassing in the junkiness of it....
Being only a week into a multiple-month hike, my body is getting used to its new regimen. And, again, while you think you can prepare for foot care, have dealt with blisters on many trips in the past, it's just never the same as living it. Perhaps it is my shoe choice or perhaps it is the heat, but I've gotten blisters in unfamiliar places. Not a one on my heels. But the ball of my left foot has grown into a continuous blister from under my big toe all the way across four toes and up between each one. It also feels like someone has been pounding it with a hammer, just for fun. Each night is spent with my Leatherman and my first aid kit, lancing blisters, cleaning, putting on ointment, and bandaging. I wept in my tent the night it spread across all four toes. But this too shall pass, my feet will toughen up, I may get new shoes, and all my aches and pains will gradually disappate into sheer strength. I have to say, I think I have a rather high pain tolerance to keep hiking with them and my bum knee. That or I'm very, very stupid.
Socially, I've been blessed as well. The crew of people that started hiking around the same time as I did are similar minded and focused. We are extremely supportive and easy-going with each other and kindnesses performed by one are passed on by another. There is a definite sense of karma on the trail and good deeds turn into good deeds done unto you when you need it most. I get a sense that there is or will be a "party" atmosphere among some of the hikers and I'm glad to have missed that wave of people as that is not why I'm on this journey. Many, many of the hikers seem to be graduates of the Appalachian Trail and I've heard lots and lots of stories and comparisons. They, on the other hand, have heard lots and lots of stories about Alaska and how this trail differs from my experiences there....we meet in the middle, here on the PCT. Also, people surrounding the trail are exceptionally nice. In the two trail towns I've been in, vendors and townsfolk are accostomed to having hikers strewn around town, downing soda and chips, airing out nasty socks or sleeping bags, and yet they always have a smile and ask how the trip is going. It is such a nice reception particularly when you feel like you are hobo and definitely smell like one.
As I mentioned, my injured knee from my ski trip of a month ago is giving me a bit of a problem. Today is what we hikers call a "Zero Day" which means that I'm taking a day off and hiking zero miles. Five and a half days of hiking has already brought me 78 miles from my start point and it's a good time to rest up my feet and my knee. I'm icing, elevating, stretching, and taking Vitamin I (ibuprofen). Feeling better already. Keep your fingers and toes crossed that I can baby my aching joint into accepting that my intent is walking to Canada....
I worry about my knee, but otherwise my spirits are good. I love this trail. Every day is different; there are high points and low points, and there is magic. We gage miles by distance between one water source to the next. We take frequent breaks. We are thankful for every inch of shade we can squeeze in to and for every breath of air that cools the sweat from our brows. We are living the simple life. We walk for a living. I couldn't ask for more.